The Harder They Fall
by Vaniah
Summary: Ranma/Akane: Ranma's an undercover cop. Akane's a med student. Nabiki knows something she shouldn't. Add a mysterious disk, some persistent assassins, a little romance, and the trouble's just begun…AU
1. Chapter 1: A Bump or Three on the Noggin

**Disclaimer**: I don't own anybody or anything that you recognise, unfortunately. Ranma and his friends belong to Rumiko Takahashi.

**Author's Notes**: Well, here it is. The very first chapter to the very first fanfic I've ever planned to actually finish. I've written completely crap fics for other fandoms, but I have a really good feeling about this one. Among other things, I'm also writing a fluffy one-shot Christmas story, which will hopefully be up sometime before Easter, if my sense of timing continues the way it always has.

A humongous, enormous, mammoth-sized thank you to my beta-reader, **FrameofMind**. Without her wonderfully helpful suggestions, this chapter would have contained a lot more inconsistencies and grammar errors. That, and the story would have been title-less, so I proudly credit her for coming up with 'The Harder They Fall', while I was throwing out extremely lame ideas like 'Cops and Doctors'.

Constructive criticism is always welcomed, and I hope you enjoy!

* * *

**The Harder They Fall**

**Chapter 1: A Bump or Three On the Noggin'**

_Snip_..._snip_..._snipsnipsnip_...

_A little more on the left. Oops, too much.  
_

_  
There, perfect!_

Strictly speaking, Ranma Saotome wasn't a gardener. In fact, living on the fifteenth floor of an apartment complex, the closest thing he had to a garden was a sad-looking, wilted fern sitting on top of the refrigerator. However, admiring the neat, even surface of the hedge he'd just trimmed, he figured he could have been a very good one if his life had moved in a different direction. The pine tree saplings he'd planted last week were looking quite healthy, and he'd received several compliments from the master of the household's personal assistant for the excellent job he'd done pruning the roses yesterday.

Ranma fought the urge to stab himself with the hedge shears. He couldn't take much more of this.

_Just a few more days_, he told himself, _just a few more days and we'll nab the bastard and bring the whole operation down, then you can tell the boss to kiss your ass because you're going on vacation. _He firmly believed that if anyone deserved a break, it was him. Ranma made a mental note to pick up some travel brochures for the Caribbean on the way home. The beach sounded really nice right about now.

Not that it wasn't hot enough already, but at least at the beach there was a whole ocean of cold water to swim in, not to mention an endless supply of icy cocktail drinks. Here, all he had was a half-empty bottle of tap water attached to his hip, warm and muggy-tasting from being in the sun all afternoon. And it didn't help that he wasn't allowed to work with a shirt on anymore, either.

Gingerly, Ranma prodded the angry red patch of skin on his upper back, wincing as it stung and burned _Great, now I'm gonna get skin cancer too, on top of everything else. Damned bitch Rochelle. __  
_  
The master's French 'mistress' (or whore, if you're among less-than-polite company), had slinked up to him one afternoon and informed Ranma in a sultry voice that, if he wished to keep his job, he had better surrender his top to her right away. Pasting what he'd hoped was an intense, sexy gaze on his face, he complied, and spent the rest of the day shooting Rochelle hostile glares when she wasn't looking, watching her climb out of the pool and use his favourite red muscle shirt as a towel.

Speaking of slinking...

Ranma spotted Shampoo sashaying her way over to him, clad in no more than a miniscule pink bikini and matching designer sunglasses, stopping only when she was certain she was invading as much of Ranma's personal space as possible. She smiled at him prettily, and Ranma fought the urge to roll his eyes as she started trailing her fingertips across his muscled chest and arms, thankfully avoiding the sunburnt patches, while he kept his head down submissively. To the casual observer, it looked like the master's Chinese mistress was alleviating her late-afternoon boredom by playfully coming on to the shy, handsome groundskeeper.

"Suzuhara say he be yelling in Ranma's earpiece for past ten minutes," Shampoo whispered, lowering her head to his ear in a sensual way. "What you doing?"

Ranma growled quietly, and casually touched the side of his head, feeling around for the nearly invisible earpiece planted in his hairline. Sliding it back into place, he frowned when he realised the adhesive wasn't bonding to his skin. He brought his face close to Shampoo's.

"Well, tell Hiroshi that if he wants to be able to keep contact with me, he'd better stop giving me shitty equipment. These pieces of garbage don't stick to sweaty skin."

"Shampoo have extra, just in case," she replied, nuzzling his bicep. "Is in left hair ribbon. Quickly, Suzuhara say he have job for you."

Sliding his hand up the left side of her face, Ranma angled his head so it looked like he was about to kiss the Chinese girl. His fingers quickly slid under the ribbon of her ornamental hair bells, snatching the speaker and adhering it behind his left ear in one smooth motion.

"Suzuhara, this is Saotome, do you read me?" he muttered, his face hidden by Shampoo's hair.

"Loud and clear, over" was the tinny reply.

"This is only gonna hold out for so long, Hiroshi, so you'd better be working on fixing these damn things."

"Yeah, yeah, I'll file the complaint later, quit your bitching. I've got a job for you."

"So I've heard. What's up?"

"Well, about an hour ago we lost the signal from the bug you planted in the dining room. I need you to replace it." There was a pause. "Oh, and brilliant idea, by the way, putting it in a potted plant. One of the maids probably poured water on it."

Shampoo giggled quietly at this. Annoyed, Ranma tugged the lock of violet hair tangled in his hand, and she pinched his forearm in response.

"Fuck off, Suzuhara," he snapped, and then lowered his voice again when Shampoo hissed at him. "I'd like to see you do better with these bastards watching you like a hawk."

"Whatever you say, Saotome." Ranma could practically hear Hiroshi rolling his eyes. "Mousse is standing by and will intercept you in the front foyer in six minutes exactly. Grab the bug, plant it somewhere else this time, and get the hell out. Shampoo will cover if anyone starts asking questions."

"Got it. I'm out."

Tucking his canvas gardening gloves into his pockets, Ranma's eyes suddenly went wide as Shampoo reached around his torso and deftly patted his backside. "Good luck," she whispered, smiling saucily before sweeping off to her poolside perch, leaving a stunned Ranma in her wake.

Ranma just shook his head, and ruefully grinned at her retreating form. That Shampoo was something else, that's for sure. Definitely not his type, though. Unfortunately, Shampoo's partner always insisted on taking it out on Ranma's ass when she pulled flirty little stunts like that. And even more unfortunately, she had the tendency to pull those stunts in front of Mousse on a regular basis. He wondered if she was trying to make Mousse jealous. If that was the case, it sure as hell worked.

Taking a moment to crush the broken earpiece in his hand and burying it under a hedge, Ranma made his way to the main house, walking slowly so he wouldn't arrive early and be forced to wait around. That would definitely look a little off.

Exactly six minutes later, Ranma spotted Mousse's approaching figure from across the giant, cathedral-ceiling foyer, but he didn't make eye contact. They were strangers, after all. He didn't even see Mousse reaching into the wide sleeves of his white cook's uniform, but he did notice the small device being dropped on the carpet a few feet ahead. Mousse walked right by, but Ranma paused, crouching to the floor under the pretence of tying his running shoe. The bug disappeared, tucked safely under the black terrycloth of his athletic wrist bracers.

"Transfer successful," he muttered to no one.

Ranma didn't even flinch when a pouchy-faced guard stopped him in the hallway and demanded to know where he was going.

"Just refilling my water bottle, sir," Ranma answered politely, a pleasant smile on his face. "It sure is a scorcher out there today!" He cringed inwardly, compelled purely out of principle to kick his own ass for saying something so dorky-sounding,

Apparently the dim-bulb pretty boy act worked, because the guard waved him away without a second glance. Ranma actually did go to the kitchens and refill his water bottle, but instead of returning to his half-trimmed hedges outside, he ducked into an adjacent hallway. There, he took a moment to conjure up an image of the house's blueprints, the one's he had spent many long, boring nights learning down to the last detail. With the image firmly planted in his consciousness, he glanced around the corner carefully before setting off, his senses alert for the slightest trace of movement.

It was an old, Western style mansion, built for some European or North American settler or something; Ranma couldn't remember the history lesson part of the debriefing. He did, however, remember that the original owner had been a paranoid old coot who insisted on having the whole house designed on a labyrinthian framework, with hidden passages and secret rooms all throughout. Apparently, this was to ensure the old geezer had a quick escape route if someone decided to attack in the middle of the night.

So, on the one hand, this made the house rather ideal for housing illegal activities. The numerous secret rooms were good for hiding a lot of unscrupulous things, like paper shredders destroying condemning documents, or drug labs producing dirty heroine, or high-tech computer labs housing teams of elite hackers. On the other hand, though, it wasn't very difficult to sneak through the maze of tunnels, staircases and hidden rooms unnoticed if you had them memorised. Should, say, an undercover cop posing as a groundskeeper manage to get a copy of the blueprints, well, it made his job rather easy. Or as easy as his job ever really got. In any case, Ranma could safely say he'd managed worse without getting a bullet between the eyes.

A few twists and turns later, Ranma found himself behind a musty-smelling curtain, fighting the almost overpowering urge to sneeze. The door to one of the smaller dining rooms loomed in front of him, across a six-foot wide carpeted hallway that might as well be a hundred-kilometre chasm for all the trouble it was going to cause him. There were no convenient sculptures or sofas to hide behind, and there were not one, but two surveillance cameras tucked in the corners of the ceiling.

His blue-grey eyes latched onto the swiveling devices, watching carefully. Moving cameras like these were designed to shift around the 'blind spot' normally left by still-mounted cameras, so a permanent, stationary hole wasn't left in the surveillance area. Taking a deep, calming breath, Ranma tensed all his muscles, watching the cameras until they faced just so, creating the split-second blind spot in front of the dining room door. This had to be timed just right.

_There!_

With a burst of inhuman speed borne from his intense martial arts training, Ranma darted across the hall, whipped through the mahogany door and latched it behind himself without making a sound. Once inside, he let out a deep sigh, before grinning cockily to himself. The curtain hadn't even fluttered.

There were no surveillance cameras in here, since it isn't particularly polite to film your guests eating, and the master apparently had a bizarre preoccupation with etiquette. Ranma strolled around with abandon, taking in the ritzy environment. Though he'd been in here before, the sheer unabashed luxury of the room still took him by surprise.

The walls were a deep green, adorned with intricate crown moulding and impressive portraits of pompous-looking politicians, dignitaries, or other members of high-class society worthy of having their images painted instead of taking photographs like normal people. The massive dining table was the focal point of the room, lined with dozens of cushy chairs on either side. At each place setting was the finest bone china Ranma had ever seen (not that he'd seen much), accompanied by tall, fine-cut crystal wine glasses, and silverware that was actually made of silver. An ornate chandelier hung above the table, all eight trillion little candles lit for dinner, which would be served in less than two hours.

Ranma would have been terribly impressed if he didn't know where the money to pay for all of this came from.

The exotic-looking plant he had hid the last hearing device in was still sitting in the corner. Digging through the leaves, he extracted the damaged bug, which, damn that Hiroshi, was in fact slightly soggy. Making a wry face, he tucked it in his pocket, where it would wait to join the smashed earpiece in its grave under the garden hedge.

_And people in this country wonder where their taxes are going.  
_

On his hands and knees, he ducked under the table, and planted the bug on the leg next to the head of the table, pulling the tablecloth back into place. There. Now any important mealtime chatter would not be missed.

The sound of a door handle clicking made Ranma smash his head painfully on a sharp corner. He glanced at the door; it was open just a crack, and he could hear voices in the hallway.

_Oh, shit!  
_

Running on pure instinct, Ranma agilely flipped his body up, suspending himself under the table with his arms and legs. His hands held the two corner table legs in a death grip, while his feet pushed against the thick, supportive leg in the middle. His bare back and the end of his braid brushed the underside of tabletop. The position would become painful soon, but Ranma was nothing if not tough. He held his breath as the two strangers entered the room, every curse word he'd ever learned—Japanese, English, and even a few Chinese, courtesy of Mousse—racing through his head. _Oh, man, if I get caught now...  
_

"...to a back alley-he begged and pleaded, of course-then bam, right in the head!"

The sounds of guffawing reached his ears and Ranma made a disgusted face seen by no one.

His expression shifted into panic as one of the thugs pulled out a chair and sat down, his knees crossing inches away from Ranma's face. Ranma turned his head away as far as it would go, fearing the heat of his ragged breath on the crony's leg would give his position away. His arms were starting to hurt a little, the strain on his muscles increasing with ever passing moment.

"You sure he was dead, though, right? Like, did you check his pulse and stuff?"

"Whadya take me for? Besides, I didn't even have to! Trust me, with all that blood, he was as dead as a rat in a trap."

_How the fuck do I always get myself into these situations! God, so much for an easy job!  
_

Ranma had learned long ago that the most effective strength training was to train your body to support its own weight, which Ranma was very good at. He could often be found hanging from a horizontal bar in the PSIA gym, doing pull ups and counting "two-hundred and eighty-eight, two hundred and eighty-nine, two hundred and ninety..." But even he had his limits, and his face screwed up in a grimace of pain as the minutes ticked by.

_Just...fucking...LEAVE!  
_

"So why'd the boss wanna have an old guy like Henderson offed anyway?"

"Beats me, I just do what I'm told. I heard some rumours, though."

"Rumours? Like what?"

There was a pause, and Ranma imagined the crony was peering around for eavesdroppers. Then Ranma's clammy left hand slid down the table leg several inches before he regained his grip, and all thoughts of the conversation above him fled his attention.

"I heard he's been...you know. Snoopin' around."

"Snooping around doing what?"

"Whatdya think, moron? He probably went chicken-shit and thought he could bail."

"No shit!"

"Yeah. And I found a disk in his jacket, just like the boss said I would. Dunno what's on it, though. I'm gonna give it to the techs, see what the geeks make of it."

"Heavy." There was a pause in which Ranma could feel his own IQ dropping merely by being in the same room as the two blockheads. "So, which one of these forks does Rochelle want?"

Ranma screamed silently.

"A salad fork, she said." A moment passed. "Which one's a salad fork?"

"Hell if I know. Why'd she want one outta here, again?"

"'Cause they're real silver, duh."

"Huh. Picky, 'ain't she?"

"Who the fuck cares, didn't you see she was sunbathing topless? I woulda carved her an entire flatware set if she asked!"

Silently, Ranma vowed to make sure that Rochelle got a life sentence. No, _two_ life sentences!

Did they still behead people in France?

"Just grab one of each and let's go. Maybe she'll let us stand guard over her and Shampoo while they go swimmin'!"

There was a sound of clinking metal as all the forks from one table setting were gathered. The knees shoved in Ranma's face straightened out as the man stood up and followed his companion out the door, making lewd jokes about Shampoo's breasts.

Ranma waited until he could no longer hear the footsteps marching down the hall, before letting out an agonising groan and dropping to the floor. He tried to massage the burning sensation out of his biceps, but he realised he needed those particular muscles to perform that action, and instead just let his arms drop heavily by his sides.

"You okay, Saotome?"

_BANG!  
_

"OW! Fuck! Sonofa...Suzuhara, don't do that!" he whispered vehemently, rubbing the newest addition to the collection lumps on his head. He'd forgotten that Hiroshi could hear everything from both the bug and Ranma's speaker.

"Hey, at least I waited until they were gone."

"Thanks, I guess," Ranma commented dryly, crawling out from under the table. He stretched good and hard, making sure he was in good enough form to make it back down to the garden without running into trouble. "Did you catch everything?"

"Yep, Fushida's running a search on this Henderson guy as we speak."

"Good, and tell Daisuke I want everything on my desk by the time I get to the station."

"Would you like fries with that, sir?"

"Hiroshi, do me a favour and put a sock in it, will you," Ranma griped. "Anyway, it's 5 o'clock, that mean's quitting time for the gardener. I'm outta here. Give Shampoo and Mousse the updates for me."

"Aye, aye, Cap'n. See you in a bit."

* * *

Ranma didn't care how reputed the Japanese transportation system was around the world, he absolutely hated taking the train. It was crowded, noisy, and not to mention uncomfortably hot, but beyond that, it was a severe blow to both his pride and to his wallet. He owned a perfectly good car that he was more than capable of driving, but here he was, forking over his hard-earned yen to pay for a train ticket that he didn't need, while his expensive sports car sat idle in the parking garage of his apartment complex.

He understood why he wasn't allowed to drive his car to the job, of course. For all intents and purposes, he was a lowly, ill-paid gardener. It would definitely seem a bit suspicious if he drove his red convertible up the driveway of the mansion and proceeded to plant begonias, but that didn't mean he wasn't bitter about it.

She was probably getting all dusty, sitting in the dark, cavern-like parking garage, all alone in the exclusive reserved lot…

"Sorry," Ranma muttered to a fellow passenger, even though the old lady had elbowed him in the ribs. He was tired and sore, and definitely didn't feel like holding his arms above his head and clutching the straps for the entire forty minute ride home. He scanned around for an empty seat, spotting one toward the back of the cabin and making his way over.

"Excuse me, is anyone sitting here?" he asked, not really caring if the answer was 'yes' unless the seat belonged to a pregnant woman.

A young woman about his age glanced up from the book in her lap, a suspicious look in her eye. She peered around the cabin, confirming that this was indeed the only seat left, and shook her head 'no'. Ranma dropped down across from her, leaning back and letting out a heavy sigh.

"Thanks."

"'Welcome," she answered shortly.

"It's been a long day," Ranma said idly, making conversation for no particular reason.

"Mmmhmm," she replied, still not looking up from the book.

Ranma raised an eyebrow in her direction, but she continued reading, steadfastly ignoring him. Then it occurred to Ranma that she probably thought he was coming on to her. A quick look around confirmed that there seemed to be a lot of men concentrated in this particular cabin, some of them shooting him nasty glares, which amused him greatly. He wondered why none of them had tried to grab this seat when it was empty.

_She must be a regular commuter_, he thought, mentally shrugging. Well, they could have this seat next time, because she certainly wasn't very good company. He settled his head against the window, closing his eyes, and letting the rocking motion of the train soothe the tension from his body. His mind went pleasantly blank.

After a few minutes, he opened one eye, peering curiously at the girl across from him.

She was pretty cute, actually. Slim and petite, she had a heart-shaped face framed by long, dark hair. Half of it was pulled back with a clip, while the rest spilled over her shoulders. He only caught a brief glimpse of her facial features, but her brown eyes were large and kind of innocent-looking, and her lips full and pink. And she smelled really nice, too. Like vanilla and oranges. He could smell it all the way over here, and it was very distracting.

For a lack of anything better to do for the next thirty-five minutes, Ranma covertly studied her appearance, trying to guess what she did for a living.

She wore a light grey skirt that reached her knees, and a pale pink top with a wide, but not low neckline. Neither showed much skin, which probably meant she worked in a professional environment. But not in an office, since she wasn't carrying a briefcase or a suit jacket.

Her shoes were flat and sensible-looking. Maybe she spent a lot of the day walking or standing?

There was a silver watch around her small wrist. Digital. She needed to keep track of the time easily and accurately.

Jewellery? She tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear, revealing small, dangling silver earrings that matched the watch. Pretty, but wouldn't get in the way of any hands-on work.

Ranma amused himself like this for a few minutes, and the best guess he came up with was a school teacher. He felt disappointed with his deductive reasoning skills-something he should probably worry about, considering his profession-when she readjusted the book in her lap, revealing the title: _Clinical Use of the Pulmonary Artery Catheter. _

_Wow. Not exactly a drug store romance novel_.

If Ranma remembered correctly, the Tokyo Medical University was located somewhere around this district, as was the city's major hospital. So she was probably a medical student; not a doctor though. She was too young to be a professional yet, and she didn't have that harried, 'I-have-to-perform-six-triple-bypass-surgeries-in-one-shift' look on her face that most doctors wore.

Plus there wasn't a beeper in sight.

The train hit a rough patch on the tracks. Ranma's head bounced painfully from its resting place against the window, aggravating one of the lumps he'd received earlier during his little dining room adventure. _Well, if I didn't get a concussion the first two times, that last one probably sealed the deal_, he thought bitterly. He held back the stream of curses threatening to spew from his mouth, for the sake of preserving the innocence of the little girl sitting a few seats away.

The little girl smiled at him. Ranma did a double-take, his heart leaping into his throat.

She had vibrant red hair.

The girl turned away, and Ranma snapped back to reality. His heart dropped from his throat, down past its usual spot in his chest, and landed heavily in his stomach. He screwed his eyes shut tightly, trying to clear his mind of the familiar barrage of images. _Why do I keep doing this to myself...?_

"Hey, are you okay?"

Ranma looked up, jolting out of his unpleasant reverie. "Huh?"

"Are you okay? That looked like it probably hurt." It was the medical student girl. Her pretty brown eyes looked at Ranma expectantly, and he realised she was asking him about his head, and not what he was thinking about.

"Oh, uh, yeah," he stumbled over his words, momentarily thrown. "But it's fine. I just hit a tender spot, that's all."

"You sure?"

"Yeah," he said, feeling a little nervous under her gaze for some reason. "I guess my friends are right when they say I have a hard head."

She giggled, and Ranma was rather surprised with himself. That was actually pretty witty.

Reaching into the shoulder bag at her feet, she dug out a small object and handed it to Ranma. He accepted it, puzzled.

"For the headache you're probably going to have in about thirty seconds," the dark-haired girl elaborated in a friendly, teasing voice.

It was a small packet of ibuprofen, the kind usually given out for free by doctors and dentists. Ranma found that painkillers from the drugstore weren't very effective on his body, but he didn't want to seem ungrateful by refusing them. Shrugging, he tore the packet open and swallowed both pills without water.

"Thanks. I feel better already." He gave her a friendly smile. She looked away suddenly. Was she...blushing?

Nah.

"I'm Ranma Saotome, by the way," he continued, sticking out his hand. A girl gives you medical assistance, the least you can do is introduce yourself, he figured. She glanced at his hand before slowly taking it in her own. It was soft and small, and he absently registered that there was no ring on her fourth finger.

"Akane Tendo." She smiled shyly at him, and Ranma was suddenly aware why so many men were flocking to this particular cabin. "Nice to meet you."

Around them, several PDAs and laptop computers flipped open, frantically recording this coveted piece of information.

"So..." Akane groped around for something to talk about. "How'd you bump your head the first time?"

"Um, at work," he faltered. "I dropped something and hit my head picking it up." _Wow, that was intelligent. Here's a girl who probably graduated with marks in the ninety-eighth percentile, while you're accidentally losing more brain cells.  
_

"Oh. So what do you do?"

"I'm…" _Oh, God, do I have to?_ "...I'm a gardener." He winced painfully; that sounded even lamer out loud. He really wished he could tell her his real job. It would probably impress the hell out of her.

Akane blinked. "Really? You don't seem like...the type," she said slowly, obviously trying not to be rude or belittle his lifestyle. He appreciated that, in a weird way.

"Yeah," he said, trying to play it off as no big deal, even though his insides were shriveling up with embarrassment. "I didn't think so either, but here I am."

Despite the humiliation factor, Ranma felt inexplicably proud of himself when she laughed again. It was a pleasant sort of sound, sincere and a bit contagious.

"Yeah, I know what you mean. I thought I'd be teaching martial arts for a living, but, well..." She held up her textbook so he could read the cover clearly. "I guess medical school was my true calling. I'm headed for my shift at the hospital right now, actually."

He'd already guessed the med school part, which he obviously wasn't going to tell her, lest he come off like some weirdo, but martial arts? Ranma gaped at her, shocked. "You're a martial artist?"

Akane nodded enthusiastically, a note of pride in her voice. "Yep. I grew up in a dojo."

"How advanced are you?" he asked, intensely curious. Maybe she just practiced once in a while for leisure?

"Well, I've been doing it since I could walk, and I'm twenty-four now, so I'd say pretty advanced." Akane smiled, looking a little smug at his dumbfounded expression. But she was so...little. Hardly taller than five feet, and she looked like a strong breeze could bowl her over.

Ranma realised he was staring like an idiot and decided to actually hold up his end of the conversation. "So, what style do you practice?" Maybe they could get together some time and spar. No, that was dumb. How do you even go about asking a girl something like that? 'Hey, babe, wanna get together and see who's better at kicking the other's ass?' Besides, he didn't hit girls unless they were bank robbers or drug dealers, even if they could defend themselves. But then again, other than a few women on the force like Shampoo, Ranma didn't know any female martial artists.

No, that was a lie. He'd known one other.

"Kempo, and a little bit of kendo, too," she answered, her eyes glittering as she leaned toward him, getting into the conversation. "I haven't practiced kendo much lately, though," she added, scowling briefly for some strange reason, then her expression cleared once more. "What about you?" He absently registered that she had pulled out a pen and was scribbling something down on the front page of her textbook, before tearing it out and sticking it in her pocket. _Probably notes for a test_, he thought, dismissing the gesture.

"Anything Goes," Ranma replied with a grin. His heartbeat picked up a notch as he caught another whiff of her pleasant scent.

Now it was her turn to look surprised. There weren't many members of that particular school anymore, and the style didn't exactly have an entirely wholesome reputation, since it involved a lot of...cunning. Which is a polite word for underhanded sneakiness. However, Ranma saw nothing wrong with using your opponents weaknesses against them, and besides, he used his superpowers to fight the forces of evil, so he figured that made up for all the practitioners of Anything Goes Martial Arts Bar Brawling, or Panty Stealing.

"Well, that's—"

The distorted sound of the conductor's voice announced the next station, cutting off any reply she was about to make.

"—my stop" Akane continued sheepishly, gathering her textbook and shoulder bag. If Ranma didn't know better, he might have detected a trace of disappointment in her voice. That thrilled him more than it probably should have, considering that she was practically a stranger, and he would probably never see her again, and not to mention that he was completely unable to work up the stones to ask for her phone number.

Besides, who was he kidding. One of the first things he'd said to her was a complete lie, so it was hardly an auspicious start to any sort of relationship. And he was a total cop cliché in some ways, completely married to the job. Dating just didn't fit into his schedule right now, no matter how attractive or interesting the girl sitting in front of him was. Once this case was over, he'd spend all his time doing paperwork or working on his side project until the next assignment, where he would probably end up doing more time-consuming undercover work. How was he supposed to fit a girlfriend in there? It wasn't a matter of cowardliness, it simply wasn't worth the effort, or so he tried to convince himself as Akane smiled at him warmly before getting up from her seat.

She swayed slightly against the movement of the slowing train, and by pure reflex, Ranma caught her by the waist to stop her from overbalancing and toppling over. With a small gasp, her textbook fell from her grip, but she didn't retrieve it immediately, instead blushing and stuttering out a 'thanks'. Relieved that she hadn't clocked him over the head with her handbag for touching her so personally, Ranma mumbled an equally incoherent 'no problem', looking down at his feet and feeling like he'd regressed about ten years, reverting back into an awkward sixteen-year-old boy.

Textbook back in her grip, Akane stuck out her hand out like he'd done at the beginning of their little encounter.

"Well, maybe I'll see you again some time? I take this train every day." Her voice sounded a little…breathy, something which didn't escape Ranma's notice, and gave him a momentary burst of confidence.

"I sure hope so," Ranma replied as he shook her hand again, this time consciously noting her bare ring finger, and boldly running his finger along it as he withdrew his hand. Akane's eyes widened slightly, but he just smiled innocently. He probably wouldn't see her again, but there's nothing wrong with making sure she remembered him, right?

"I-I hope your head feels better." She turned toward the exit.

"Thanks. Uh, have a good shift at the hospital?"

"I will" she said quietly, smiling over her shoulder. "Bye."

He caught one last glance of her shiny dark hair, and then she was out the door and out of his sight.

Ranma exhaled and sat back in his seat, his eyes still locked on the exit door as he tried to quell the weird rushing sensation in his ears. A pensive expression appeared across his face; then, ever so slowly, a grin that threatened to split his face crossed his features, a grin that few had seen in a very long time. He was blissfully unaware of the looks of utter hatred and contempt the other men on the train were shooting at the back of his head.

_I guess there's something to be said about public transportation, after all._

* * *

**Author's Notes**: So. Ranma and Akane like each other right away. We'll see how long that lasts the next time they meet.

The other commuters on the train are the working world's answer to the Furinkan High Hentai Horde. Poor Akane, she never catches a break, does she? At least they don't try to attack her. After all, when she'd brained the first guy who'd tried to cop a feel during rush hour, they'd all given her wide berth, hence the empty seat. Ranma's just lucky she thought he was cute. ;)

By the way, the PSIA is the Japanese equivalent of the FBI. It stands for Public Security Investigation Agency. The Tokyo Medical University actually does exist, as does the textbook Akane was reading. No, I haven't read it. It's on my to-read list. Really.

So who is this Henderson guy, what's with the mysterious red haired girl, and where does Nabiki fall in to all of this? Find out next time, and don't forget to review!


	2. Chapter 2: Fire In The Hole

**Author's Notes:** Holy crap, I can't believe how many positive reviews I got for Chapter 1! I was expecting no more than five or six, but _38_ for a single chapter? Wow, you guys are fantastic! Thank you! My rResponses are at the bottom. :)

On an entirely different note, I have a secret to tell you guys: this story scares the hell out of me. There are so many things that I can screw up with the plot and characterization that it makes me sweat nervously just thinking about it. :P It's like a jigsaw puzzle, very delicate; you screw up one piece and the whole thing is shot straight to hell. But I will persevere!

Anyway, on with Chapter 2, and as always, constructive criticism is welcomed!

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* * *

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**The Harder They Fall**

**Chapter 2: Fire In The Hole**

On the fourth floor of the Tokyo General Hospital, in a stark white room occupied by a sleeping patient, a surly doctor, and ten fairly young men and women clad in stark white coats, something very strange indeed was happening.

Akane Tendo was not paying attention to her lesson.

"...arrived last week experiencing altered bodily sensations, accompanied by lapses in speech ability, and periods of paralysis in the limbs. Before that, the patient reported a dramatic increase in thirst, frequent headaches, and increased weakness and restlessness. Patient's age is 64." Dr. Hinako paused, giving the students time to scribble down a few notes, before continuing once again.

"Miss Tendo, a preliminary diagnosis, please?"

Akane's eyes snapped up from where they had been staring blankly at the clipboard clutched in her hands. A deer-caught-in-headlights expression flashed across her face briefly, before being replaced by the cool, detached mask adorning the faces of her fellow doctors and students. She attempted to conceal her panic by keeping her voice as smooth and professional as possible. "Could you please repeat the initial symptoms, doctor?"

Dr. Hinako pursed her lips in a way that told Akane that the older woman wasn't fooled by the attempt to cover up her moment of spaciness, but nevertheless, she repeated the symptoms with clipped tones. Akane frantically groped around for the answer that was hovering at the edge of her consciousness. She wished she hadn't been gazing at the chequered floor tiles when they had reviewed the patient's charts.

"Miss Tendo..." Dr. Hinako's normally sultry voice was edged with warning.

"That would be…complications as a result of type 2 diabetes," Akane replied when the answer finally hit her, and she mentally patted herself on the back for possessing such grace under fire. She deflated slightly when she saw the beady-eyed vulture look Dr. Hinako was giving her.

"And what could those complications be, exactly, Miss Tendo?" the curvaceous woman asked, privately and rather childishly enjoying the fact that she had finally caught the brightest, most attentive student in the group in a moment of weakness. Akane's jaw worked up and down like a goldfish's, while the answer rested just on the tip of her tongue.

_Shit, shit, shit!_ Akane cursed mentally. _Okay, speech impairment, paralysis, increased thirst, over 60...come on, Akane, you know this!_

Beside her, Yuka gave a little cough that sounded like a stream of nonsensical syllables. Akane continued to draw a blank, and Yuka coughed again, this time a little louder.

"HHNS!" Akane blurted out suddenly, correctly interpreting Yuka's hacking. "Er, that is, hyperglycemic hyperosmolar nonketotic syndrome. Recommended treatment is increased insulin therapy, and careful monitoring of the patient to prevent death or coma during sleep."

That alone was a satisfactory answer, but Akane wanted to wipe that irritatingly smug look off of Dr. Hinako's face, so she continued adding confidently, "Further testing is required to determine the cause of HHNS in the particular patient, but possible triggers include infections, heart attacks, kidney failure, uncontrolled blood sugar, blood clots–"

"Thank you, Miss Tendo, that will do," the attractive doctor said swiftly, cutting Akane off with a frown. "However, I suggest you pay attention from the beginning of my lectures from now on. This material may show up on your exam in six months, and I'm afraid Miss Inoue's respiratory problem won't be able to help you then."

With a final steely look, Dr. Hinako turned on her heel and continued marching the group of medical students out the door and down the hallway toward the next patient's room. The male students in the group used the opportunity to sneak glances at her shapely behind.

"Miserable witch," Akane muttered when the witch in question was out of earshot. "She just wants to make me look like an idiot in front of the class." Yuka nodded in agreement as both young women hurried to catch up with the rest of the students.

"She's got a point though, Akane," Yuka whispered so only Akane could hear when they joined the back of the group. "Not the idiot part," she added hastily when Akane looked at her crossly, "It's just that it's definitely not like you to zone out like that. The rest of us, sure, but not you."

Akane half-smiled, listening to Dr. Hinako's lecture with only one ear. She hadalready made extensive notes on this particular pneumonia patient when she and Dr. Tofu had visited him at the beginning of her shift. "I know, I know. And you won't believe why."

"Really?" Yuka asked quietly, shooting her friend a concerned glance. "Should I be worried?"

Akane didn't answer as she struggled to bite back a silly grin, succeeding only marginally. Try as she might, she couldn't seem to rid herself of that funny fluttering sensation in the pit of her stomach, but she didn't need any medical knowledge to diagnose this particular condition. She had a developed a crush on a gorgeous, funny, nice guy whom she had spoken to for five minutes on the train, and it was driving her, Akane Tendo, future paediatrician and every educator's dream student, into a state of distraction. The unthinkable was happening, and a large part of her—the part that wasn't feeling all squishy and warm when recalling how his fingers had caressed hers in the most intriguing way—was disappointed that a _man_, of all creatures, was tarnishing her reputation as the most promising student in her class.

Not that it was completely his fault, as much as she would have liked to blame it entirely on his pretty blue-grey eyes. No, she had definitely played a large hand in her current inability to focus, because Akane had done something so bizarre, so risky, so daring, so..._unAkane_-like, that she couldn't even think about it without feeling like her lungs were about to explode messily inside her ribs. But somehow, it also made her want to break out into a fit of shrill, girlish, highly unprofessional giggles. She would have given herself a hearty slap on the face if she wasn't worried about causing a scene that would disturb the patients.

That, and the psychiatric ward was on this floor.

Akane continued to chew on her bottom lip furiously, refusing to meet the brown-haired girl's curious gaze. She would figure it out in a minute, anyway—Yuka was freaky like that. It was like she had some sort of internal radar for this kind of girly stuff. Maybe a heat-seeking device that detected the warmth of blushes?

As if on cue, a delighted expression slowly crawled across Yuka's features. "Akane...?"

"Sssh!" Akane hushed her friend before Dr. Hinako noticed that twenty percent of her students were no longer even pretending to pay attention, while simultaneously trying not to laugh at Yuka's astonished expression. "I'll tell you about it during break."

"Oh, you had better, Akane. Or else I'll tell the head nurse that you're volunteering to give that old pervert in room 209 a sponge bath."

Akane failed to suppress a shudder. The threat, combined with the somewhat guilty feeling that usually assaulted her when she discussed trivial things in the presence of so many suffering people (despite the fact that casual, frivolous chatter, when appropriate, was encouraged in order to maintain good mental health among the hospital staff), was the final jolt needed to focus her attention back to the remainder of the lesson. In fact, she followed it almost as attentively as she normally did when not distracted by vague thoughts of pigtails, and by knowing glances from other future paediatricians.

* * *

"So let me get this straight," Sayuri said incredulously. "Akane Tendo the notorious man-hater flirted with a complete stranger on the train? Not only that, but _you_ initiated the flirting, you let him _touch_ you, and now you're getting told off by your professors for not paying attention because you can't stop thinking about him?" She folded her arms across her chest staunchly and leaned back in her chair. "Alright, who are you and what have you done with my friend?"

"Nothing's wrong with me, and I'm not a man-hater," Akane replied weakly, unable to deny the other statements, despite the sordid way that Sayuri had worded them. She dropped her gaze to the cafeteria table, and picked at her slightly limp garden salad. She hadn't told them the worst—or best, depending on the state of her answering machine within the next few days—part yet.

"Well, maybe not, but you've sure as hell never acted this way about any of the guys I've tried setting you up with."

"That's because they're all a bunch of weirdoes and perverts."

Momentarily forgetting the actual topic at hand, the young nurse looked utterly shocked that someone would insult her matchmaking skills in such a way. "That's not true! What about Kirin?"

"You mean that tall guy from diagnostic imaging?"

"Yes, him! He's smart and good-looking! What's wrong with him?"

Akane raised an incredulous eyebrow. "You mean other than the fact that he carries around a little bento of pickles and rice the way a woman carries a purse?"

"A bento that he packs on his own," Sayuri replied triumphantly. "Which means he can cook. You, of all people should be able to appreciate that."

"Sayuri, he keeps the chopsticks in the bun in his hair," Akane replied flatly, then frowned. "And shut up, my cooking is just fine."

Yuka, who was sitting next to Sayuri, and quietly observing the discussion, decided to make her presence known.

"Akane, you're not telling us the whole story, are you?" she stated with complete certainty. "I know you're not, so spill it. What else happened?"

Akane cursed that internal radar of hers. If several years of being a student of science hadn't beaten any lingering traces of paranormal belief out of her, she would think that Yuka was psychic. But whatever it was, maybe running Yuka's head through an MRI machine a few times would throw it off.

Akane sighed heavily and tried not to mince words. "Alright, remember how I said I was getting ahead on some reading before he showed up?"

The girls nodded, urging her on.

"Well, as I was talking to him, I sort of...I did something…" Akane trailed off and buried her face in her hands, torn between laughing hysterically and moaning in humiliated agony. "Oh God, I can't believe I'm telling you this! I can't believe I even did it! I must be going crazy!"

"What? What did you do!" Sayuri shrieked, earning a few wary glances from the other patrons of the crowded cafeteria. Yuka's expression clearly stated that she would strangle Akane with a pair of latex gloves if she didn't continue her story immediately.

The words spilled in a tangled rush, muffled by the hands covering her face, but still comprehendible.

"I wrote my phone number on a scrap of paper from my textbook, and then I pretended to drop the book on the ground and shoved the number in his jacket pocket as I was picking it up."

It didn't seem possible, but somehow, the words managed to sound even more ridiculous out loud than in her head. She opted for the humiliated moan, shoving her half-eaten salad aside and letting her head drop on the table with a loud thud, but that didn't quite block out the sensation of her two friends' disbelieving stares. A silence settled over the table occupied by the three young women, oddly deafening despite the noisy chatter of hospital employees and visitors buzzing in the background.

"You're lying," Sayuri stated.

"I'm not," Akane replied, not lifting her head from the table.

"But that's—and you—but…this is _you_!"

"I know!"

"That's mad!"

"That's what I've been trying to tell you!"

"So, what's he like?" Yuka interjected. Sayuri blinked at the question, while Akane quizzically lifted her forehead from the table.

"What's that got to do with it?" Sayuri asked, her tone suggesting that Yuka was somehow missing the real point of the conversation.

Yuka rolled her eyes at the young nurse. "Everything. After all, for Akane to do something like that, he must have left a pretty good impression on her."

Protesting seemed useless at this point, so Akane settled for blushing heavily. "I-I don't really know. Like I said, I only spoke with him for a few minutes–"

"Cut the crap, Akane." Sayuri—who was now equally curious—demanded in that no-nonsense tone usually reserved for fussy patients. "You must know something, so spill."

"Well, his name is Ranma…" Akane began slowly. She shot Sayuri a questioning look when the young nurse let out a short giggle. "What?"

"Nothing! It's nothing!"

"Yeah, right," she retorted. "What's so funny about the name 'Ranma'?"

Sayuri fidgeted in her seat. "It's just…you know…'wild horse'…" she explained, trailing off with a suggestive quirk of her eyebrows.

The two young medical students exchanged brief glances of confusion. Then the clouds parted.

"Oh, grow up, Sayuri!" Yuka cried at the giggling woman when she caught on to the suggestion. To think that they let this girl give out medication.

"Look, do you want to know this or not?" Akane demanded, trying to remain dignified despite the embarrassed blush that had now spread down to her neck. She was surprised with the amount of will power it was taking to beat away the images that Sayuri's words were conjuring. _Bad Akane!_

"Yes, yes, sorry," Sayuri replied, letting out a final giggle before pulling herself together with a deep breath. Her face became comically stoic. "Continue."

"Anyway," Akane said, glaring at Sayuri, "His name is Ranma, he's a martial artist—"

She was interrupted again, this time by her two friends exchanging knowing glances.

"Well, that explains it," said Yuka, as Sayuri nodded in agreement.

The long-haired woman sighed, wondering why she even bothered with gossip. Apparently she wasn't very good at it, since no one seemed to want to listen to her. "Does it now? Well, please, enlighten me."

"Please, Akane, we all know you've got a thing for martial artists. It's like a standard manufacturing requirement with you."

"Yep, it's true," Yuka chimed in, nodding. "Some women like funny guys, some women like sweet guys, you like guys who can kick ass."

"It's not a _standard manufacturing requirement_, as you so eloquently put it," Akane retorted, rolling her eyes. "It's called sharing a common interest. Martial arts is an important part of my life, so of course I would be…interested in someone who likes the same things as me."

"And it doesn't hurt that martial artists have hot bods by default, does it?" Sayuri winked. Akane decided that the young nurse was being quite the pervert today, and ignored her.

"Okay, besides that, what else did you find out?" Yuka asked, swiftly changing the subject. "Is he cute?"

An image of blue-grey eyes, hair as dark as coal, and a cute, lopsided grin came to mind. She smiled slightly. "You could say that."

Yuka and Sayuri were familiar enough with their friend's evasive ways to know what that really meant—he was a total stud. The topic needed no further elaboration.

"Anything else interesting?" Sayuri asked with a smirk.

Akane considered the question for a moment, and let out a small chuckle, her earlier irritation slipping away completely. "He's a gardener," she replied, her eyes dancing with guilty mirth. She burst out laughing when she saw the dismayed glances her two friends were exchanging, amused at having anticipated their reactions so well.

"As in, by profession?" Yuka asked weakly.

Akane nodded, still grinning. "Yep. And I know what you're thinking, but look at it this way—it probably keeps him pretty humbled, right? Not that there's anything wrong with planting flowers for a living, but it's pretty hard for a guy to be macho about it, don't you think?"

It is a truth universally acknowledged that Akane Tendo couldn't stand arrogant men. They made her want to do stupid, adolescent things like break cinder blocks with her bare hands.

"And you probably make a lot more money than him, as well," Sayuri added, starting to understand Akane's point. "If that doesn't deflate a man's ego, I don't know what will."

"Of course," Akane replied, suddenly feeling very amused with the entire ridiculous situation, and she wondered why she had been making such a big deal out of it. Spearing a cherry tomato onto the end of her fork, she dug into her salad with renewed gusto, and decided that the whole thing had been the result of some temporary bout of insanity. Or perhaps it had been some sort of an allergic reaction to having been persuaded—well, more like bound and gagged—by Sayuri, as well as her sisters, her father, and even a grandmotherly cardiac patient into going on bad date after bad date. It was probably an act of rebellion on the part of her subconscious, fed-up with the notion that simply because she was a single woman in her twenties, she needed to immediately be fixed up with any living, breathing, reproducing male before all of her prospects ran dry. Because heaven forbid that she should put her career first.

So, really, it didn't matter if anything came out of her little stunt, so long as she'd successfully proven to others that she was capable of handling the reigns on her own love life.

Still, she felt a little twinge of an unhappy something at the thought of him not calling her. After all, she'd gone through a lot of trouble—it would be pretty jerky not to, and he didn't _seem_ like a jerk...

Though infuriatingly stubborn and argumentative sometimes, Akane was not a stuck-up girl by any means, but she did pride herself in three things – the first was being a member of the medical profession. It was a career path that very few people ever managed to travel with any amount of success, and required a lot of skill, dedication, and let's face it, smarts. The second was her martial arts ability, and to become as good as she was took nothing short of Herculean determination, especially since she had been largely self-taught.

The third thing was not nearly as important to her as the first two, but nevertheless, her impeccably good taste in men had saved her an enormous amount of time and effort since she had hit puberty—time and effort which she had effectively used in bettering herself as a student of the martial and medical arts. Despite numerous offers, she had only ever gone on a grand total of two dates throughout her entire high school career, one with Yuka's cousin, and one with a boy whose father had been a member of the city council with Akane's own dad. She had agreed to that one largely because the city council was one of the few things Soun Tendo had continued to feel any sort of emotional attachment to after the death of his wife, and Akane didn't want to jeopardize that by refusing to go out with his superior's son.

Before that was a childhood crush on Dr. Tofu, the kind, handsome man whose quiet dedication to serving the sick and injured that arrived daily in the ER had been a great source inspiration for Akane, and whom she was now proud to call her brother-in-law.

And then there was the only real relationship Akane had ever been in.

Shinnosuke Sagara had swept the unsweepable girl off her feet after a year of being one of the only male friends she had ever had. Akane had met him on her very first day of classes at Tokyo University, when the endearingly absent-minded boy had asked her for directions to his Introduction to Cell Biology class. As fate or luck would have it, it was the very same classroom Akane had been fruitlessly searching for herself, and the two had put their heads together, arriving to class nearly thirty minutes late and with plans to meet for lunch the next day.

For a year, they had dissected various creatures together, stayed up until dawn studying for grueling exams together, practiced martial arts together—he had been quite adept with the bo, a skill which Akane was sorely lacking in—, laughed together, and when news had arrived of Shinnosuke's beloved grandfather's death, they had cried together. Then, at the very start of the following year, he had wasted no time in asking Akane out on a formal date, and she had been surprised with how willing she was to turn their close friendship into something more.

Looking back, Akane could still safely say that it had been love. He had shown the jaded young woman that not all men under the age of thirty were hopeless pigs, but more importantly, he had treated her with kindness, and allowed her to open herself up to another person in a way she had never dared to before, treating that privilege with respect, and never using her trust in him to hurt her.

A year had gone by happily, but they slowly found themselves drifting apart, not by any fault of their own, but simply by circumstances leading them down different paths. They had eventually broken up without any hard feelings, and even now, four years later, Akane still felt no regrets and could remember their time together with fondness. In fact, she had run into the young veterinarian-in-training a few months ago at the grocery store, with a pretty woman that she had been pleased to hear was his fiancée.

And that was it.

_I'm getting soft in my old age_, the young woman thought wryly as she recalled all of the stupid, pointless dates she had gone on since then. _I don't have the energy to fight off all the wannabe Cupids in my life anymore._ As a teenager, all she had to do was adopt that fiery glint in her eye, and maybe do a bit of yelling, and the subject would be dropped without hesitation. It just wasn't that easy anymore.

She glanced at the clock and noted that it was time for her and Yuka to resume their rounds with Dr. Hinako, and for Sayuri to go home for the night. Chucking her empty salad container into the garbage bin, and wishing their friend goodnight (after childishly pinky-promising to inform her of any developments on the Ranma front), the two girls made their way past the noisy front lobby, and into the oversized elevator. Rolling her shoulders and mentally steeling her will, Akane took a deep breath, and let herself slip out of gossipy female mode and back into professional medic mode.

The lift doors split open, revealing the familiar organised chaos of the ER. Surgeons in pale green scrubs hurried past with cups of cheap coffee grasped in one hand and patient charts in the other, while nurses scurried from room to room, administering daily doses of medication with routine accuracy. Everything ran with purpose and precision, and despite the fact that Akane would be working in the more sedate paediatric ward after graduating, she still strangely felt at home amid the frenzy.

"Akane, Yuka!" the plump, matronly head nurse called out from behind the nurse's station. "Dr. Hinako's been called away for an emergency, but she wants you two doing rounds for the next hour."

The two women glanced at each other and shrugged. It was unusual for students to be assigned rounds, but both had done it before, and as anal as she was, Dr. Hinako wouldn't assign her students a task that she didn't think that they could handle. They accepted copies of patient schedules from the head nurse and split up in different directions to cover more ground.

Stepping into room 202 and cheerfully greeting the teenaged boy who was in with several broken ribs from a skateboarding accident, Akane idly mused that when it came to having a career or a love life, it was best just to stick to what you were good at.

* * *

The patient in room 210 was surprised with at how relaxed and at ease he felt. He knew the assortment of painkilling drugs coursing through his system may have had something to do with it, but it was still highly unexpected. Had someone told him he would feel as light as a feather only hours after being shot in the head, he would have told them to seek professional help.

The floating sensation would have been much lovelier had the left side of his skull not felt as though it were being chipped away with a dull spoon. Still, it was better than the jackhammer drill of the previous hour, and infinitely nicer than the eighteen-wheel lorry when he had been lying in the alley.

All in all, Frederick Henderson realised that he had quite a lot to be thankful for. He was alive, for one thing, and apparently had all of his faculties in tact. All ten toes were wriggling the way they were supposed to, and he was not missing any bits of earlobe, or nostril, or other such important aesthetic body parts.

He was also quite thankful to the clever people behind his Harrods chinos, for including a seemingly-useless spare change pocket concealed within the larger front ones. The thugs hadn't even thought of looking anywhere but inside his jacket before they shot him and left him for dead.

God, how he wished he had stayed in Oxford.

At the moment, he wasn't quite willing to offer his right arm, or any other limbs for that matter, but he would have paid a lot of money to hear the sounds of his rowdy Advanced Economics class shouting play-by-play recaps of the latest Chelsea vs. Real Madrid football match, as loathsome as he usually found the sport. Or really, anything other than the sound of his own heartbeat being repeatedly converted into an artificial, electronic blip.

He stared at the ceiling, feeling ever like the stranger in a strange land.

Accepting the offer had seemed like a good idea at the time. After all, he was a long-time widower—may God rest his beautiful Anne's soul— without any children, and had nothing much to look forward to other than a retirement filled with recreational polo, weekend visits to the Continent, and afternoon tea.

Proper earl grey, with milk and honey. Not that herbal rubbish the Japanese seemed to love.

As he lay in his hospital bed with tubes connected to his arms, some sort of intrusive piping in his nose, and a bullet in his skull, he wondered what on earth had been wrong with having a dull retirement. Why had a luxurious apartment in Tokyo proper seemed so much more appealing than his peaceful summer house in Bristol? As for money, not only had he been a professor at Oxford bloody University for thirty years, but his father had once held a position in the House of sodding Lords! He had inherited enough money to keep himself several levels above comfortable for many years, yet here he was.

But it hadn't really been about the money. It had been the opportunity to explore new lands, learn new languages and meet new people that had appealed to his inner youthful adventurer. But now he knew better. Home is the safest place on earth, and one could easily have such adventures sitting in front of the fire with a Rudyard Kipling book.

The increasing sense of detachment from his body was telling him that his adventuring days might soon be drawing to a close. If not now, then his assailants would find out that he had survived, and come back to finish the job.

But he wasn't done yet.

As a young man, Henderson had once served as a soldier in Her Majesty's Royal Navy, and if there was one lesson that his commanding officers had drilled into him, it was to serve your country to the best of your ability and beyond. Aside from the rubbishy tea, the attempted murder and the circumstances surrounding it, life in Japan had been good to him. And although she was not his country by birth, he was going to answer the call to duty.

The question was, how?

As this thought crossed his mind, the door to his room opened and a pretty young doctor in a grey skirt and pink blouse entered. He smiled with relief. The jackhammer drill in his head was starting up again.

* * *

Akane stormed out of room 209 with her teeth grinding, her fists clenched and her blood boiling like molten lava. Nurses exchanged understanding glances and stepped out of the raging young woman's way.

She couldn't _believe_ that disgusting, foul-mouthed, gutter-minded little..._pervert!_ Hippocratic oath or not, one of these days she was going to kill that lecherous old goat, slowly and very painfully. And she would laugh gleefully while she was doing it, and maybe even throw a party afterwards.

He was supposed to be incredibly weak with the effects of liver damage as a result of a lifetime of drinking. How he had managed to reach up Akane's knee-length skirt and pinch her bum was completely beyond her ability to comprehend. But she only had herself to blame. How silly of her to think that the notorious Happosai would refrain from groping the woman who was injecting morphine into his I.V.

He might think twice about groping the woman holding a scalpel over his head in the dark.

Akane stopped stomping down the hall and realised that she couldn't safely continue doing her rounds until she could think with a clear head, so she employed some of her more effective tension-relieving exercises. She took a deep, cleansing breath and pictured a sunny field of flowers. She slowly counted to 50 by fives. She recited the alphabet. And finally, she hummed The Beatles' 'Yellow Submarine' under her breath until her fists unclenched and the tendons in her neck relaxed.

Much better.

Checking her schedule, she read that her next patient was a 58-year-old man named Frederick Henderson. She grimaced slightly when she read that the poor man had been shot in the head, with the bullet still lodged. He was awaiting surgery, and was conscious with a stable condition for now. She also noticed that there were no names listed under permitted visitors, so he was probably alone in the country.

Entering his room, she saw an elderly Englishman lying in the bed. He had sharp blue eyes and a distinguished mustache perched under his aristocratic nose. His steely grey hair was just visible under the stiff white bandaging that wound around his head, and he looked strangely out-of-place in the standard issue blue hospital gown. She thought tweed might suit him better.

She smiled when she saw his gaze land on her. "Hello there, Mr. Henderson," she greeted in English, hoping to put him at ease. His insurance forms stated that he had been living in Japan for less than two years, so she wasn't sure how good his Japanese might be. "How are you feeling?"

"Quite wretched, actually," he replied with a wan smile, also in English. His accent sounded just as posh as she expected. "And yourself?"

Akane laughed good-naturedly as she consulted his charts for the appropriate dosage of painkillers. "Oh, I can't complain."

"Good, good," the elderly man replied with solemn nod. "Lovely young ladies such as yourself mustn't be allowed to have anything to complain about."

This drew another laugh from Akane, as she took an instant liking to this grandfatherly man. He seemed a far cry from the pervert in the next room. "I'm glad to hear that you feel that way, but I'm afraid that sweet words will only get you so far around here, Mr. Henderson. You'll still have to eat the food we give you."

He gave a sigh of mock defeat and settled back into his pillows. "Ah. Well, a man is only as good as the amount of effort he puts forth, am I right?"

"Absolutely," she replied, searching through a nearby cupboard for a syringe. "Which would put you right up there with the very best of them."

He chuckled weakly and went silent for a moment before he spoke again. "Your English is very good," he complimented.

Akane smiled at him warmly. She couldn't imagine anyone purposely trying to shoot this man, and concluded that he must have been an innocent bystander standing in the wrong place at the wrong time during a gang brawl or something. "Thank you. I've learned that it's a very useful language when you work in a city that attracts as many visitors as Tokyo does." It was true—the hospital admitted at least half a dozen English-speaking patients during the course of any given week.

"Well, I must say that there are few things lovelier than being in a foreign land and hearing one's mother tongue spoken in such a beautiful voice."

If all patients were as sweet as this man, Akane decided that she would never leave the hospital. She held a syringe up to the light and slowly began filling it with clear liquid. "And I must say that you're being much too charming for your own good. I can't imagine how your wife must feel."

"I'm afraid there isn't a Mrs. Henderson anymore, my dear. There hasn't been for some time now." He sighed, suddenly seeming much older than he had a moment ago. "No, I'm just a lonely old man trying to live out the rest of his days the best he can."

Reminded of her own father, Akane felt her heart aching at the sadness in his voice. "I'm so sorry to hear that. Did you two have any children?"

He shook his head wearily. "No, Anne and I didn't have nearly enough time together for that. I've had to settle for being a kindly old uncle to my sister's children." His twinkling blue eyes studied her face contemplatively. "In fact, I have a niece about your age who is about to make a grand-uncle out of me. You remind me of her just a little bit, so perhaps that's why you seem familiar."

"I should be so lucky as to have an uncle like you," Akane said as she smiled at him and reached out for his I.V. stand. Tapping the syringe to remove any air bubbles, she carefully began injecting the contents into the tube leading into his forearm. "But now I think you're making things up."

"Really?" he asked, already looking slightly drowsy. "Why is that?"

"You're far too young to be anybody's grand-anything," she replied smartly, throwing the used syringe in a nearby hazmat disposal bin.

He chuckled again, his eyes slowly losing focusing and his eyelids dropping. Sleepily, he reached out and took Akane's free hand, giving it a small squeeze. "Thank you, my dear. Now tell me, what is your name, so I may tell my family about the angel of a doctor who administered the lifesaving injection that brought me from brink of death."

"You're hardly on the brink of death, Mr. Henderson," she replied with gentle reproach, though that wasn't entirely true, "And it's just a little something to dull the headaches and help you sleep."

"Oh, but that's not nearly as interesting a story."

She giggled and shook her head, bringing her other hand up to clasp his between her palms. "Well, in that case, my name is Akane Tendo, and I should let you know that I'm not a doctor yet, I'm still a student."

He let out a jaw-cracking yawn in response, shutting his eyes and muttering, "You'll make a very good one, dear child. Thank you."

"Thank _you_, Mr. Henderson," she replied quietly, squeezing his hand once more before laying it to rest on top of the blankets. "Goodnight."

Just ask Akane was turning to leave, her ears perked up the sound of Mr. Henderson's heart monitor rapidly picking up speed. She spun around again to face the elderly man and saw that he seemed to be trying to fight off the sleep-inducing effects of the drugs. His eyelids flickered as he struggled to lift his head from the pillow.

"Mr. Henderson, what are you doing?" she asked, rushing back to his side. "You need to rest!"

She felt a tiny flicker of panic as his heart rate continued to rise, but she didn't call for help just yet. Snatching his charts from the foot of the bed, she quickly flipped through the pages again, checking to make sure he didn't have any drug allergies that she may have missed. There were none.

For a moment, she fretted over what to do. She couldn't give him another calming injection without the doctor's permission, or else she would be risking overdosing the patient. Instead, she clasped the man's right hand as he was lifting it, and tried talking him down. Some patients found the instantaneous fatigue brought on by tranquilizers to be a frightening sensation, and reacted with panic. "Ssh, Mr. Henderson, it's alright," she soothed in a hushed voice. "Just calm down and rest, you're just fine."

"Tendo?...Your surname is Tendo...?" the elderly man managed weakly.

Akane wondered what that had to do with anything. "Yes, it is. Now just go to sleep, I'll be back tomorrow evening and we can talk some more then."

"No...need to...give you something..."

Akane drew back slightly, startled, then recovered herself when she saw that his heart beat was not slowing down. "Whatever it is, Mr. Henderson, I'm sure it can wait until later."

"No!" he gasped, struggling against her grip. She loosened her hand slightly, fearing that she may have been hurting him, but he yanked it away and pointed vaguely at the piece of furniture to his right, next to the I.V. stand. "In the...night...table..."

Despite herself, Akane gave in to the curiosity, and reached for the drawer's plastic handle to slide it open. Inside were a few medical pamphlets, an eyeglass carrying case embossed with the letters "F.H.," a wallet and wristwatch, both of which she presumed belonged to him as well, and an unlabeled black computer disk. Normally the administration desk held on to a patient's belongings when they were rushed in by ambulance for emergency treatment, but Mr. Henderson must haverequested to keep his things nearby.

"The disk...keep it...safe...!"

Akane threw him a troubled glance, but his eyes were unfocused and glazed. His movements became even more weak and sluggish as he continued to lose the battle against the drugs coursing through his system. She reacted quickly, trying to get an explanation out of him before he went under completely.

"Mr. Henderson, please, what do you want me to do with this?" Akane asked as calmly as she could, holding up the disk.

"Don't show...anyone...but...na..b.."

"Show anyone but what?" she whispered, fearing that one of the nurses would walk by and hear. What on earth could possibly have this man in such a panic all of a sudden?

But the elderly man's eyes were shut completely now, and he didn't seem to understand her. "Promise!" he rasped.

Akane bit her lip in dismay, and realised that agreeing was probably the only way to calm his racing pulse. She really didn't want to, since there was the off chance that he may not survive his surgery tonight, but she saw no other alternative. "I promise, Mr. Henderson, I'll keep your disk safe. Now please, calm down, it's alright! You have to rest or you'll aggravate your injury."

He let out a deep sigh and his muscles finally relaxed. Akane glanced at his heart monitor and saw that the green spikes were gradually separating, the beeping no longer so incessant. Exhaling the deep breath that she hadn't realised she had been holding, Akane glanced around nervously before sliding the disk into the breast pocket of her white coat. She wasn't sure what she was going to do with it yet, but after witnessing Mr. Henderson's panic attack, leaving it lying around where anyone could find it seemed like a distinctly bad idea.

Adjusting Mr. Henderson's blankets around his torso, Akane gave the puzzling man a final, thoughtful glance and exited the room. The earlier hustle and bustle had died down almost completely. The corridor lights were turned down low with the late hour, giving the hallways an abandoned, almost eerie, feeling. She glanced at her watch and saw that it was ten to midnight, meaning that her shift was nearly over. On most nights, she would wait for Dr. Tofu to finish up and he would drive her home, but tonight, she decided that the train seemed like a more appealing option. She needed to do some serious, uninterrupted thinking.

As she made her way to the staff locker rooms at the far end of the darkened corridor, Akane's mind was buzzing with questions. Why had Mr. Henderson reacted like that after hearing that her last name was 'Tendo'? Did he know one of her relatives? Her father, maybe? But that was unlikely, since her father hardly ever left the house, and he definitely would've mentioned making friends with an Englishman.

Something didn't feel quite right.

Standing in front of her opened locker, Akane slid the disk out of her breast pocket and after hovering uncertainly for a moment, she slipped it in a concealed pocket inside her shoulder bag, not without a considerable amount of guilt. This was stealing, she realised. It didn't matter if Mr. Henderson had asked her to take it, if someone found out that she'd taken a patient's belongings—while he was under the effects of drugs no less—she would be in a mountain of trouble. The smartest thing to do was turn her butt around, march straight back into Mr. Henderson's room, and drop the disk back in the drawer. No one would ever have to know that she had even touched it.

Akane glanced at her pensive expression in the small magnetic mirror hanging inside the door. On the other hand, if he didn't survive his surgery, putting the disk back would mean breaking a dead man's promise. She hoped with all her heart that the sweet, charming old man would survive, but she had enough experience in the field to know that when it comes to life and death in the operating room, things don't always go as planned. It wasn't the most logical mode of thinking, but did she really want something like that on her conscience?

But what would she do with the disk if she did hang on to it?

There's only one thing for it, she decided. Put the disk back, hope and pray that Mr. Henderson makes it through the night, and come back for it tomorrow. Hopefully, she would catch him while he was awake, so maybe she could get a few more answers out of him.

And if he didn't survive...well, she would just have to find a way to sneak into his room and stea—acquire the disk again before the hospital sent his belongings home.

Yes. That's what she would do.

Akane tugged off her white coat and hung it inside the locker, revealing her three-quarter sleeve top and bare forearms. Then she snapped her hair clip open, shaking her head and letting the partially bound locks fall free around her shoulders and down her back. Glancing at her reflection once last time, she gave herself a stern look and a quiet "stay out of trouble, girl" before shutting the door resolutely.

"Heading home for the night, Akane?" asked a cheerful, thirty-something nurse named Junko as Akane paused in front of her en route to Mr. Henderson's room. She seemed ready for a long, boring graveyard shift, with her feet up on the nurse's station, and a paperback novel resting in her lap.

"Yep, just stopping off to, er, say goodnight to one of the patients, then I'm gone," Akane replied. She wondered if her night could possibly get any weirder. First, she'd chatted up a tall, dark, and handsome stranger on the train, then she'd been given the third degree by her girlfriends, then she'd been groped by a three-hundred year old pervert, and now she'd gotten herself into a very sticky situation involving a mysterious Brit and a piece of computer hardware. "Thank goodness. It's been one hell of a night."

"And I've still got six more hours to go," the auburn-haired woman groused, and Akane smiled wryly. "Well, goodnight, sweetie, and be safe. You never know what crazy lunatics you'll run into this time of night."

_I wouldn't be surprised if I did. But let 'em try something. We'll see who comes out on top._ "I will. Have a good night, Jun–"

"Hey, you!" Junko shouted suddenly, leaping to her feet. "What d'you think you're doing!"

Akane stared at the woman, startled, until she realised that Junko wasn't addressing her, but someone over her shoulder. She whipped around and spotted what had caught the nurse's attention—a tall, wiry man dressed all in black was exiting one of the patient's rooms.

Room 210. Mr. Henderson's room. The 'lonely old' Mr. Henderson with no relatives in Japan.

Akane's heart leapt into her throat.

"Visiting hours are over sir, I'm going to have to ask you to leave," Junko called out.

_Something is definitely, definitely not right here,_ Akane thought frantically as her feet started carrying her away from the nurse's station and toward the dark figure. The man noticed this, and started walking away quickly. He appeared to be fumbling with something in his hands.

_No! He can't get away!_

"Stop!" Akane shouted suddenly, "Stay right where you are!"

The man shot Akane a split-second glance over his shoulder, then suddenly set off at a sprint, his footsteps pounding in the darkened corridor.

Akane's instincts were screaming at her to keep this man in her sight, no matter what. Tossing her shoulder bag away roughly, her martial arts training kicked into high-gear and she shot after him, blood pounding in her ears from some untraceable fear.

"Junko!" she screamed over her shoulder, "Call security! _Now_!"

Akane only made it a few metres when suddenly, her world exploded. The wall of room 210 burst apart, sending a thundering wave of unbearable heat and debris over her body. Instinctively throwing her arms over her face and spinning away from the explosion, Akane had just enough time to glimpse the wall of flames as it sped down the hallway towards her.

Then everything went black.

* * *

**Author's Notes: **Mwah. Mwahaha. MWAHAHAHA!

>:D

I'm so bad. I make you guys wait for so long, and then I leave you with a cliffhanger. Hopefully I made up for the long wait with the sheer length of this chapter (almost 8,000 words!). It took forever to write, and the conversation between the girls turned out about twice as long as I had planned. But you know how we girls are—get us talking about a cute boy, and we never shut up. ;) But not to worry, I swear that you won't have to wait nearly as long for Chapter 3 (entitled 'Second Encounters' hint hint). I'd say it's already about 30 finished.

I felt awful killing Henderson (by the way, that's what happened at the end if you didn't catch it). He started out as just a name, and then he just kept evolving into this fully-fledged character until I remembered that he had to die, or else there would be a humongous plot hole. It was very upsetting.

Harrods is a very famous British department store. Very posh, very expensive, just the sort of place an Oxford professor would buy trousers. I've heard the Queen shops there.

Rudyard Kipling is the author of _The Jungle Book_.

I made up that statistic about English-speaking patients in Tokyo hospitals. And did you know that 92 of statistics are made up on the spot?

I didn't make up any of the medical jargon about HHNS. I found it at webMD, which is a very useful website, but will turn you into a raging hypochondriac if you spent any more than five minutes there.

Chelsea is my dad's football team, Real Madrid is mine and my brother's. :D

I have nothing against Japanese tea. :P

Shinnosuke's surname is Sagara because 'Sanosuke Sagara' has such a nice ring to it. :D

I guarantee that singing 'Yellow Submarine' will remove a bad mood like OxyClean on a grape juice stain.

And finally, fifty points to Gryffindor for whoever can spot the Jane Austen reference.

* * *

**Review Responses: **

**ranmababy:** You made a good guess in there!

**Roja-Cyd:** I was so pleased when I saw that you'd left me a review, I love your stories! And I'm glad the cliché didn't turn you off. I kinda tried to take a tired idea and turn it on its ear. Here's hoping it works. :P

**morgannia:** You are on to something, I can tell you that. :)

**TheEtherway:** I find researching little details is one of the most fun parts of story writing, so I'm glad you noticed. :) And yeah, don't worry, R and A wouldn't be so lovable if they didn't bicker. They just got a better first impression of each other in this story than in canon. ;)

**AnnechanB:** I've gotta say, your question kept me awake at night when I first read it, because I honestly hadn't thought about that! Congrats on stumping the author! ;) But I think I've come up with an answer to that question (with FrameofMinds's help) that will show up later in the story. Thank you for reading so closely!

**Angela Jewell: **Another review I nearly had a fit over—I love your writing so much, so it's incredibly pleasing to hear that you like my stuff. :) Plus yay for thorough reviews! I hope I'm doing a good job portraying Akane in a positive light in this story, and I really hope that this chapter was as good as you were expecting. :)

**Koala Kitty: **Firstly (fangirls all over you). :P I really like mystery stories as well, but I've just realised that they're very hard to write, so here's hoping I can keep the pieces straight! And after their first meeting, I think it's a bit too late for R and A to actually hate each other, but that doesn't mean they won't bicker entertainingly. :D

**TashinH:** That was very nice of you to return a review. :) And I know what you mean about crappy Ranma fics, it's like an epidemic. But I'm glad that you consider mine to be one of the good ones, because I just love yours. I've reread _Total Knockout_ waaay too many times for it to be healthy. :P

**Indygodusk: **Wow, you got two out of three things right in there. :) I won't tell you which ones, but I'm impressed.

**Pinku:** (fangirls all over you, too) Your entire review was just lovely, because I think it's really nice when a reader picks up on the little details and lets the author know that no, people haven't missed them:D And I know, I would blush like crazy is I had someone do that with my hand as well! Anyway, I'm glad to hear that I changed your mind about Ranma fics, and you're very, very welcome for the review for _Solar Demise_. It really is a wonderful story, and if you ever think that no one writes good Ranma fics anymore, just take a looksie at your own writing. ;)

**Ayumi Omoide:** You are too sweet! Your review definitely made me smile the most. And I agree, I think that no one stays an angry teenager forever (I know, I used to be a pretty pissy 16-year-old myself), so our favourite couple had to do a bit of growing up for this story to work. And I know, I would definitely not complain about a hot guy holding my waist either. ;)

**Sweetest Taboo: **My computer goes through mood swings too, but how sweet of you to come back and review! As for the little Ranma-canon references, I like sprinkling them throughout my stories because it helps connect the story with the original series better. :)

Also, many hearty thanks to Fangorn, nishikaze, jade30, Manachan, jazz, CleverWitch, KiraIzazuma, ranmakane-4ever, Ningen Demonai (silly! No review is ever lame!), Trevelyan Duke, KittyShampoo (you're welcome for the review!) cherrybloss9, Jak0TheShadows, Kchan, Vampire and Li, ForgottenSmile, Priestess Kohana, Iatok, Achava, luna, Leina, Jace3, SkippyPanda, ImSmiles, and lOserFACEladiie. I apologise if any of you were looking for a particular response, but if anyone wants one, just tell me in another review. ;)


	3. Chapter 3: Second Encounters

**Author's Notes:** I know this is a little late in the game, but I did some actual semi-in depth research on the PSIA, and I realised that Ranma's not so much a cop as he is an elite government agent (think along the lines of Jack Bauer from _24, _only ever so slightly less supercop-ish, and slightly better at not screwing up all of his romantic relationships). Apparently it's all very hush-hush, and there are only something like 1200 PSIA agents on active duty at any given time across the country. But I did manage to get the agency's duties correct: they specialise in monitoring "subversive criminal organisations".

Anyway, I don't think this makes any difference to the story thus far, other than the times when I actually referred to him as a 'cop', including in the summary, which I won't change because 'government agent' has too many letters in it. :P But that's what happens when you don't plan ahead.

Speaking of _24_, that show has recently become my latest obsession. I've finally caught up on all four seasons (that's 96 hours of television I've watched in the past several weeks) and I got some good ideas from it to use in this story. In fact—and this was completely unplanned—who noticed that the first three chapters of this story have taken place almost entirely in real time?

Last thing, I forgot to properly thank **FrameofMind** for beta-reading the last chapter, so I'll do it here: thank you dahling! Incidentally, this chapter is un-beta'd because I'm an impatient little child and need to post now, now, now (and plus university first-years generally tend to have batshit-crazy schedules!), so please excuse any spelling/grammar errors and typos.

On with the chapter, and don't forget to review!

* * *

**The Harder They Fall  
Chapter 3: Second Encounters  
**

Ranma strode purposefully down a well-lit corridor, occasionally sipping on some sort of energy drink he'd found in a vending machine in the cafeteria. It tasted filthy—kind of like old soy milk flavoured with a splash of cherry cough syrup—but right now he could use any extra boosts of nutrition he could find. After his memorable train ride, he'd stopped off at home for a quick shower, and an even quicker nap, but now it was the middle of the night and he was back at work again. And after the agonisingly long-winded briefing he'd just sat through (during which he was attacked by a fit of sneezes, strangely enough), something told him that it was going to be a long, long night indeed.

It probably didn't look like it from the outside, but in many ways, his job was almost routine in its unpredictability. The long periods of inactivity were kept busy with paperwork or training, and interspersed with short, intense bursts of frantic action which soon fizzled, only to have the cycle repeat again some time later.

Or so went Daisuke's vaguely sexual metaphor about their line of work.

And right now, the PSIA was in the action phase, with agents working ridiculous, inhumane hours and surviving on Styrofoam box after Styrofoam box of take-away Chinese food. Shampoo may think it the food of the gods, but if Ranma ever saw another bowl of ramen again in his lifetime, it would be all too soon.

Reaching his destination, he pulled an electronic keycard out of his back pocket and swiped it through the reader mounted on the wall. The small light on top went from red to green with a loud buzzing sound, and he pushed the door open. Once inside, he was greeted with the familiar sight of the PSIA Tokyo Bureau's main operations room, often referred to as the Cockpit.

He vividly remembered his first time ever entering this room, almost five years ago. The sheer volume of noise had been the first thing to strike him. The open-concept design made the room seem massive, with television monitors tuned to various local and international news stations along one wall, and desks set up in small clusters in the centre. Each desk was equipped with a perfectly functional telephone which came with it's own extension number so employees could call each other even from a few desks away. But for some reason, everyone seemed to prefer shouting across the room.

On a good day, it made the environment seem high-energy and productive, and on a bad one, it made him want to climb on top of a desk and tell everyone to just shut the hell up because he was getting a headache.

But despite the fact that his evening had almost all the makings of a bad day, there was a slight bounce in his step that didn't go unnoticed by Hiroshi, who pulled up next to Ranma as he was striding through the rows of desks toward his small office.

Because he rarely ever pulled rank on his coworkers, most people forgot that Ranma was one of the highest-ranking agents in the bureau, and thus was blessed with the privilege of having his own office space. With a minifridge.

"It's almost midnight and you've been up since four o'clock in the morning," Hiroshi informed him, keeping pace with his friend. "So why the hell are you so chipper?"

Unfazed by the rather astute observation, Ranma took another sip of his fruit-flavoured energy drink and pulled a face at the taste.

"No reason. I'm just happy with the progress we're making on this case," he answered amiably, entering the small room and settling down in his comfortable chair behind the desk. He gave the can in his hand one last dirty look before tossing it inside the minifridge with the vague intention of finishing it later. Most likely, he would completely forget about it and rediscover it three weeks past the expiration date.

Hiroshi snorted as he shut the door behind them. He sat down on Ranma's desk when he reached the paper-strewn table in the middle of the room. "That's bullshit. Seriously, why are you so happy?"

"Seriously, why're you so damn interested in my business all of a sudden?" Ranma countered, but there was little hostility in his voice.

The sandy-haired man shrugged. "No reason," he echoed. "But from my experience, nobody around here is in that good a mood during a case unless they're getting laid. And if that's the case, then it's definitely my business."

"And how do you figure that?"

"Because you know I live my life vicariously through my friends. So come on, tell me. On a scale of one to ten—one being you've had more fun by yourself, and ten, you're so dazed you can't remember how to spell your own name—how was it?"

Ranma let out a short laugh and began shuffling through some papers on his desk, mostly just to give himself something to do. "Hiroshi, I'm not married, I don't have a girlfriend, and there were about two hours between the times I last contacted you, and when I arrived here for the debriefing." He looked up at his friend with an arrogant smirk. "I mean, I know I'm good, but come on..."

"Shut up and tell me—yes or no?"

"Sorry to disappoint you, but nope. I went home, cleaned up and now I'm here." He should've just let it go, but seeing Hiroshi shake his head like Ranma had just let him down in some profoundly important way, his ego prompted him to add, "But I did meet a cute chick on the train on the way home."

Hiroshi perked up with interest and sat on his desk again. "Ah, so that's it. And?"

"And what?"

"What do you mean, 'and what'? And did you ask her out?"

Ranma's cocky grin slipped a notch. "Er, no."

Dawning apprehension crept onto Hiroshi's face. "Did you at least get her number?"

"Not exactly..."

"Email? Fax? Beeper? Anything?"

"She doesn't have a beeper," Ranma replied lamely, wishing he'd gone with his original instinct and just kept his mouth shut.

Hiroshi slapped his forehead and groaned. "You always do this, Saotome! Every single time! What excuse did you feed yourself this time? That you're too busy? Maybe you'll think about it once this case is over? Newsflash, my friend, you've been saying that for as long as I've known you!"

"Like you're any better!" Ranma shot back mulishly. "At least I'm actually meeting women, and not hounding other people for dirty details about their sex lives."

"Your edged words cut me deeply," Hiroshi said dryly, slapping a hand over his heart for dramatic effect.

"Yeah, well, cry me a river," the pig-tailed man replied sourly, feeling irritated. Hiroshi was right, and Ranma knew it, but he decided to deflect the conversation. "And why are you here? Shouldn't you be doing something, like, I dunno, your job?"

"I am."

"I mean besides pissing me off."

"Oh! Well, why didn't you just say so?" Hiroshi replied with a cheeky grin. It faded almost instantly at the dangerous look on Ranma's face, so he plucked out the folder he'd been carrying under his arm and handed it over. "Here, this is all the info we found on that Henderson guy like you asked."

Ranma snatched up the manila folder and inspected the contents. Inside, he found a few passport photographs, some medical documents, and addresses and phone numbers for various contacts throughout the UK. His temporary work visa papers stated that he was in the middle of a four-year contract as a consultant and analyst for the Japanese Ministry of Finance.

"No info from Thames Valley or M15?"

"Nope, his record's clean."

Ranma nodded as he flipped through the rest of the documents. "So what's that latest on this guy? Has the body been collected?"

"Nope, because, get this—he isn't dead."

Ranma stared at Hiroshi, shocked. "What? How's that possible? You heard those two thugs, they put a bullet in his head and left him in an alley!"

"Yeah, well, apparently he's one lucky bastard," Hiroshi said. "The bullet went in at just the right angle and missed all the important stuff by a hair. A civilian found him in the alley, called an ambulance, and he's at Tokyo General right now, alive and mostly in tact. In fact, he'll be going in for surgery within the hour."

Ranma processed this information quickly, then suddenly felt his ire rising. He slammed the folder shut. "Why the hell wasn't I told about this?" he demanded, jumping to his feet and glaring down at a seated Hiroshi.

"Er, I thought that's what I just did," said Hiroshi, leaning back slightly in alarm.

"You know what I'm talking about. Somebody high up wanted him dead and badly, so this guy might be the best lead we've got so far. Dammit, Suzuhara, you should've called me the second you found out!"

"Cool it, Ranma, we've got it under control. Me and Daisuke just thought you could use a break. You've been working harder than usual on this case."

Ranma's heated reply was interrupted when the door flew open, revealing an out-of-breath Daisuke clutching a mobile phone and a slip of notepad paper in his hand.

"What happened?" Ranma demanded without preamble, sensing Daisuke's alarm.

"I got a call from the agent we sent to the hospital to question Henderson. Someone found out the old guy was there before we did," Daisuke said gravely. "He's dead."

"Shit!" Ranma cursed. "Just goddamn perfect!"

Beside him, Hiroshi let out a frustrated groan. "How?" he asked, looking ready to punch someone's lights out. Ranma's expression mirrored his almost exactly.

Daisuke seemed to deflate slightly. "A remote-triggered bomb. Took out the entire room and everything in it."

"The bomber?" Ranma asked tensely.

"Got away."

Ranma took a deep, calming breath and laced his fingers through his hair. Shit was really starting to hit the fan. "Any other casualties?"

"Actually, no. A lot of structural damage, but the patient's rooms on either side were empty, luckily. A med student almost got caught in the blast, but other than a few minor injuries, she's okay."

"Good," Hiroshi muttered with a tense nod, and the three men lapsed into silence.

Finally, Daisuke stepped into the small office completely, and shut the door behind himself, drowning out the noise from the Cockpit. He turned to the other two, his expression serious. "So what's our next move?"

"We need to interview some witnesses, see if anyone got a good look at the bomber," Hiroshi said, reaching for the phone on Ranma's desk and punching in an extension number. "I'll get some guys on it right now."

"Got it," Daisuke replied. "Ranma?"

Ranma stood with his brow furrowed and his hands still laced in his hair, frowning in thought. Something was bothering him; a thought was buzzing at the back of his brain and he couldn't quite reach it. Something he should be remembering, but it didn't have to do with the case. Shaking it off for now, he replied, "I want to talk to the last few people who saw Henderson alive. Nurses, doctors, visitors, whoever. He might've spilled some information while he was being treated."

Daisuke nodded and skimmed over the paper in his hand. "I figured you'd say that. I've got a list here, and it looks like the med student was the last person to see him. If you leave now, you might still catch her before they send her home."

Ranma was already reaching for his faded army-green jacket, which was draped over the back of his chair. "I'm on it. Tokyo General, right?"

"Right. And use the Tokyo Medical University's parking lot next door. It's free."

Ranma rolled his eyes and was about to comment on what a cheapskate his friend was, when suddenly the buzzing thought at the back of his brain came screeching around to the forefront of his attention. He turned to Daisuke and asked hesitantly, "By the way. This med student..."

"Yeah?"

Ranma cleared his throat nervously. "...What's her name?"

Ranma held his breath as he watched his friend's eyes skim over the note.

"Her name's Akane," Daisuke replied, looking up at Ranma. "Akane Tendo."

* * *

The curls were gone. The _curls_ were _gone_.

Akane fingered her dark hair with a bandaged hand, staring morosely at the jagged, slightly charred ends. Ends which had finally grown long enough to wind themselves into soft, loose ringlets that bounced cheerfully in time with her walk.

She narrowed her eyes. Someone would pay.

Akane let out a sigh and gathered the rest of her hair into a loose, messy knot at the back of her head, knowing that she was fixating on it to avoid thinking about what had just happened. The last six inches of her hair, some minor burns on the backs of her legs and arms, and a few cuts were a very small price to pay. She was lucky that she wasn't covered in third degree burns. In fact, she was lucky to even be alive. Before blacking out, her lightening-quick reflexes had sent her diving to the floor when the explosion hit, thereby saving her life.

When she had regained consciousness, she found that her injuries had been taken care of and that the ER ward was swarming with medical personnel, fire fighters, and police officers, all clamoring around each other to determine exactly what the hell had happened.

'Terrorists' had been the hot-button word spilling from everyone's lips.

Akane worried her bottom lip between her teeth as she thought about what had happened next.

_For several moments, Akane sat up in the bed, listening to the wail of sirens, and watching the blue and red lights flash a pattern across the opposite wall of the darkened room. These certainly were normal hospital sights and sounds. But looking outside her window, she spotted several police officers armed with yellow tape, nightsticks and bullhorns setting up a perimeter around the front entrance of the hospital while warding away curious crowds._

_  
That was slightly less than normal.  
_

_  
Fighting off a wave of dizziness, she exited her hospital room and made her way down the hallway. She stood staring for a long while, taking in the sight of three firefighters extinguishing the last of the flaming wreckage that had once been room 210, while a fourth and fifth inspected the blackened walls and ceiling, making sure that it wasn't in any immediate danger of collapsing.  
_

_  
She swallowed the lump in her throat and choked back a tiny sob. This was not like life or death in the operating room. He didn't even get a chance.  
_

_  
The forensics teams would be arriving soon, to gather up the remains...  
_

_  
Akane jumped and whirled around when she felt a hand touch her shoulder. It was a uniformed police officer, who tipped her hat at Akane in apology, then proceeded to ask her the expected questions. No, I'm not hurt, yes, I was in the company of Junko Higashi during the explosion, no, I didn't get a good look at the suspect, yes, I'll be sure to contact you if I have any more information.  
_

_  
"One last question, Ms. Tendo," the officer said in a gentle tone that came across more condescending than reassuring. "Did Mr. Henderson say or do anything that caught your attention when you spoke with him last? Did he exhibit any signs of unusual behaviour?"  
_

_  
'Yes. He freaked out on me completely and nearly gave himself a heart attack when I told him my surname, and then he entrusted me with a suspicious disk with contents unknown. Do you want it, I'd really love it if you took it off my hands and my conscience.'  
_

_  
("Don't show...anyone...but...na..b..")  
_

_  
"Ms. Tendo?"  
_

Akane licked her lips and swallowed hard, making a split-second decision.

_  
"No. I only spoke with him for a few moments while I was administering his medication. He seemed fine."  
_

_Thank you, here's my card, have a good night Ms. Tendo._

Sucking in a deep breath, Akane slid the disk into the appropriate slot on her computer. Belatedly, she realised she could be downloading a virus that could erase everything on her entire hard drive, and she panicked briefly. But then she remembered that she had several backup copies of her eighty-page doctorial thesis saved and distributed in various locations all over her flat, including one tucked away in her underwear drawer, right underneath a wad of balled-up socks.

Some people called it obsessive; she called it better safe than sorry.

A file appeared in the screen, and she hesitated for a moment before opening it.

_Here goes nothing. _

"…What the hell?" Akane exclaimed out loud.

She read the words again, wondering if she had made a mistake.

**7-31-1959 **

**3:26**

**DEARIE, JOIN OR**

**RUN AS JOHN BEGS.**

**A DEBT UPS.**

**SIAM SELLER, **

**COBRA LANE**

She gaped at the screen.

But…but…that didn't make any sense! It didn't mean anything! Akane wasn't quite sure what she had been expecting to find on that disk, but this certainly was not it. Why had Mr. Henderson been so upset and secretive over something like this?

A thought occurred to her suddenly, and she hated herself for thinking it, but…perhaps Mr. Henderson hadn't been right in the head?

"What's the matter, sis? Are you okay?"

Akane tore her eyes away from the screen to see her older sister Nabiki almost running into the living room, dressed in her nightclothes. Her usually alert and sharp-as-a-tack sister was looking pale and weary, as had become normal over the past few weeks. And as of tonight, she also looked incredibly worried and anxious after discovering that her baby sister had almost been blown to smithereens.

It truly freaked Akane out to see Nabiki looking anything other than cool, calm and collected, but she chalked most of it up to stress at work, and her separation and impending divorce from her millionaire husband.

Akane scowled as she thought about that no-good pompous jackass. Sure, he came off like a good husband, all posh and gentlemanly, but was he even _trying_ to sort out whatever problems he and Nabiki were having? Not at all! In fact, ever since Nabiki had arrived at Akane's small campus home one night looking more discomposed than she had ever seen her, he hadn't called or visited once!

And Kuno had the nerve to wonder why Akane had suddenly cancelled their Sunday morning kendo practices.

Stuffed-up jerk.

"Akane, answer me!"

"Huh? Oh, sorry Nabiki. It's okay, I'm fine," Akane replied, hastily abandoning her mental fantasy of beating Kuno to a pulp with his own bokken.

"Are you sure? You look pretty beat up, you're positive you don't want to go back to the hospital and get yourself checked out again?"

Akane looked at Nabiki's hands and nearly choked when she noticed they were wringing the fabric of her pyjama pants nervously. "No, really, I'm fine. Are you sure you are, though? You're going to wreck your trousers if you don't stop that."

Nabiki glanced down at herself and hastily pulled her hands away. She crossed her arms over her chest in a gesture reminiscent of the old, confident Nabiki that Akane was used to.

And for the first time in living memory, Akane saw right through it.

She pulled down one of Nabiki's arms and took her hand, squeezing gently. "I'm so sorry I worried you, but really! Look at me, I'm fine! Just a little overcooked, that's all," she said with a smile.

Nabiki's expression slowly cleared and she lifted her free hand to hover over a particularly nasty cut just above Akane's eyebrow, before moving to her hair. "You're going to have to get this cut soon, sis. Maybe if you're really nice to me, I'll do it for you tomorrow."

"Oh really? And how much is it going to cost me to employ you hair care expertise?" Akane teased.

Nabiki looked down at her sister with an unreadable expression. "Tell you what. For not getting yourself killed today, I'll do it free of charge."

Akane gripped her sister's hand and felt Nabiki squeezing back just as tightly. "Sounds like a plan," she whispered thickly.

Let it never be said that near-death experiences don't bring people closer together.

"So what've you got there?" Nabiki asked suddenly, breaking the silence. She leaned over Akane's shoulder to look at the computer monitor. "Writing another long, boring paper…on…"

"A paper on what?" Akane prompted when her sister failed to finish her sentence. She glanced over and saw Nabiki silently mouthing the words on the screen and looking slightly agitated.

"What is this, Akane?"

Akane quickly closed the window, ejected the disk, and slid it in her pocket. "Oh, ah, nothing. I borrowed the disk from Yuka, it's probably something of hers," she lied swiftly.

There was a faraway expression on Nabiki's face for a moment, but then she shook her head and sat down on the sofa, grabbing the television remote. "If you say so. Floppy disks are so outdated anyway. You should tell Yuka to keep up with the times. Come on sis, that new crime drama is on, the one with the hunky badass cop with the sexy voice."

Akane smiled, glad that her sister seemed to be feeling a little better for the time being. "Just let me put some popcorn in the microwave and I'll be right there."

"Remember, if the paper bag lights on fire, you've overcooked it."

"Would you let it go already? That was one time!"

"And don't forget the extra butter!" she sing-songed.

The doctor in Akane cringed at the thought of all that artery-clogging cholesterol, and the annoyed little sister in her scowled at being made fun of again, but she decided to make an exception this one time, and tossed a bag of Nabiki's favourite into the microwave.

Now, what to do with the disk? A rather loud and obnoxious 'I-told-you-so' voice in the back of her mind was telling her she'd made a big mistake taking it, and furthermore that it was an even worse mistake hiding it from the police, but she would rectify that first thing tomorrow morning.

She took the disk out of her pocket again, and just as she was about to place it in a kitchen drawer for safekeeping, something caught her eye.

Engraved on the back of the disk was a round design of some sort that she hadn't noticed earlier. Squinting and bringing it closer to her face, she realised it was a logo of some kind. It looked very familiar, and she wracked her memory trying to figure out where she had seen it before.

Suddenly it hit her.

"Hey Nabiki," she called out. "Come here a second, will you?"

"Akane, the hunky badass cop is about to deactivate the nuclear device! Can't it wait a second!"

"Nabiki!"

The brunette gave a theatrical sigh and stood up. "Alright, fine. Impatient as ever. What is it?"

Deciding to make an exception to Mr. Henderson's orders, she indicated for Nabiki to move in closer, and turned the disk over in her hand. She pointed at the logo. "This is the disk I, er, borrowed from Yuka. Isn't this a government logo? And look, it says Ministry of Finance. Does this belong to your office?"

She looked up in time to see all of the colour drain from Nabiki's stricken face.

"…'run as John begs'…" she whispered. "Oh god, Akane, tell me the truth! Where did you really get this?"

Startled, Akane managed to stammer out, "F-from a patient at the hospital. Why? What's wrong?"

Nabiki suddenly seized the disk from Akane's limp hands and began looking around the room frantically. "We've got to get rid of this thing, now."

"What? Why?"

Nabiki ignored her sister's anxious questions and instead strode into Akane's tiny bedroom and began rifling through the closet. "Do you still have that wooden bat from when you played on the school baseball team?"

"No, I gave it to the Terada twins when I moved out here, remember?"

Scurrying behind Nabiki as she presumably searched the apartment for something to smash the disk with, Akane finally lost patience and grabbed her sister by the elbow, spinning her around.

"Sis, listen to me," she demanded. "You're acting really weird. What's going on? What aren't you telling me?"

Nabiki opened her mouth to protest, but she was cut off by the deafening bang of gunshots coming from right outside their window.

* * *

Ranma couldn't believe his luck. Of all the cute med students on all the trains in all the world, she had to be the one involved in his case.

He would be lying to himself if he said he hadn't been distracted all night thinking about her pretty smile, and imagining her practicing a graceful kata while dressed in a sweaty gi that was ever so slightly smaller and tighter than the average.

And even though he had resolutely told himself no, no, a thousand times no, he was still incredibly pleased at the chance to see her again.

That is, until he remembered that he had told her he mowed lawns for a living.

Damn! Why did stuff like this always have to come back and bite him in the ass?

And after just missing her at the hospital, he was now going to enter her home with a scary-looking gun holstered at his hip, a gold badge in his hand, and question her on a possibly traumatic experience.

_Well, the jig is up, I guess. I made this choice when I joined up, no use bitching about it now. _

Ranma parked his car under a streetlight, and took a second to admire the way the pale yellow beam of light played against the bright red hood of the convertible—an image he had so missed in the past few weeks.

He walked to the end of the block and turned the corner onto a street of identical semi-detached, single-story brick houses. Each graduate residence had the same set of steps leading up to the front door, the same wrought-iron railing separating each address, the same overgrown green bushes planted under each window, and the same sloping tiled roofs. The only thing that varied was a potted plant here or there, and the occasional painted front door.

How bland. Ranma found himself thinking this place didn't suit Akane at all.

Then he reminded himself that he didn't _know_ Akane at all, and how about he focus on the task ahead now, hmm?

As Ranma made his way down the empty street towards the address that the hospital had given him, a flash of movement on his right suddenly caught his eye. He froze, watching the other side of the street carefully.

There is was again! This time, a bush shivered in its wake, and Ranma realised it was too big to be a cat (thank god). Someone was sneaking around under the cover of the foliage.

Silently, Ranma moved out from under the streetlight and crouched down behind a generic green sedan that was parked on the street. He watched the shadow carefully, but it appeared that whoever it was had stopped moving.

With a sudden jolt, Ranma realised the figure had paused under the window of apartment 132B.

Akane's place.

_Aw, hell._

Preparing himself for a nasty confrontation, Ranma carefully reached into his jacket and removed his gun from its holster. He switched off the safety latch, then he realised his position across the street was too far away to do any good. He needed to be closer.

Gun in one hand, he kept his body bent low as he silently shot across the street, and took cover behind a chic black SUV parked directly in front of Akane's apartment. Vaguely, he wondered who it belonged to, and privately hoped the driver wasn't some snotty rich boyfriend of hers.

He raised himself higher until he could see over the hood of the vehicle, and aimed his gun directly at the bush. He waited for the figure to make its next move.

As if on cue, a slight-framed man dressed in black stepped out from behind the bush. It didn't take a genius to see he was moving towards the front steps of the apartment, and that he was carrying a pistol with a long, narrow silencer attached to the end.

_Oh, no you don't, you little shit_.

"Drop the gun and put your hands behind your head!"

The gunman spotted Ranma and slowly obeyed the order when he caught sight of the weapon aimed directly at his abdomen. But at the last second, the man dove to the ground and rolled back into the bushes. Ranma stood up and blindly fired several shots into the leaves, but knew immediately that they were no good.

A sense of urgency filled him as he realised the gunman had moved to the back of the house, where there could be a breakable window or sliding door that lead straight inside.

His only option was to get inside there first.

Racing up the half-dozen or so front steps, Ranma tentatively twisted the front door's handle. As expected, it was locked. He couldn't very well ring the bell, so he lowered the gun to his side, kicked out his right leg and smashed the door wide open. He winced at the noisy sound of splintering wood.

Leveling his gun again, Ranma crept inside the darkened house, alert for the slightest traces of movement. As he reached the end of the narrow hallway, an odd popping sound reached his ears. He came to a doorway and glanced around the corner before entering slowly.

The source of the noise became clear when he spotted the microwave sitting on the kitchen counter, with an inflated white and yellow popcorn bag slowly spinning inside it.

That meant there was no chance that Akane wasn't somewhere inside the house.

His sense of urgency elevated even higher, and he turned to leave the kitchen. He had to find her before the gunman did.

Suddenly, an object came swinging out of the darkness, aiming for back of Ranma's head. Ducking swiftly, he spun around behind his attacker and quickly disarmed her, tossing the wooden sword aside. He grabbed her arms and pinned them against her sides with one arm, while covering her mouth with the other.

"Shh, shh, it's okay! I'm not gonna hurt you!" Ranma whispered frantically in Akane's ear as she struggled against him furiously. "I'm a police officer!"

Not exactly the truth, but close enough.

But she continued to struggle, making loud sounds of fear and anger in her throat. He realised she was trying to say something, but her words were muffled against his hand.

"Okay, I'll lower my hand if you promise not to make any noise, got it?"

She nodded tersely. He could feel her pulse pounding against his forearm, and he was suddenly very aware that he was holding her tightly across the chest. He promptly ordered his mind to think about something else.

"I don't believe you!" she spat out in a harsh whisper when he removed his hand.

Maintaining his solid grip on her small frame, he reached awkwardly into his jacket pocket and produced his badge. Flipping it open in front of her, he felt relieved when she finally stopped struggling and relaxed against him.

Evidentially, the darkness prevented her from being able to read his name on the badge, and it didn't surprise him that she didn't recognise his voice either. He was glad for it for the moment; the last thing they had time for right now was awkward explanations.

"I heard gunshots," she whispered, breathing very quickly. "Just outside. And I think someone else is in the house. My bedroom window was unlocked and I heard it slide open a few minutes ago."

He nodded. "I'll go check it out. The shots you heard were mine, but guy who broke in here also has a gun. I need you to stay in here and hide."

"What? No way!" she hissed. "This is my house, and whoever has the nerve to break in here is getting his ass _kicked_!"

"Are you listening to me? I said he has a gun!" Ranma whispered back just as furiously. Was she crazy?

"And besides," she went on, ignoring him, "I'll just be a sitting target in here if he finds me before you find him. So lead the way, officer."

He discovered angrily that he couldn't refute the logic of her argument, as much as it went against his instincts. "Fine, but stay behind me and don't make a sound."

"Got it. And you get let go of me now. I won't try to take your head off again, I promise."

Embarrassed, Ranma quickly released his hold on her and steered her behind his body, hoping that and the darkness would prevent Akane from catching a good glimpse of his face.

Together, they crept out of the kitchen silently and headed towards Akane's bedroom.

They didn't even make it halfway there when more shots rang out, this time from inside the house, and from someone else's gun. Akane let out a strangled yell as Ranma pushed her behind the living room sofa and then dove behind it himself.

"Dammit!" he cursed, looking around frantically for something, anything he could use as cover. Bits and pieces of stuffing rained down on them as the sofa was riddled with gunfire.

There was a large ceramic lamp seated on a coffee table near Akane's head and he got an idea.

"Akane, grab that lamp and when I tell you, throw it as hard as you can!" he shouted over the noise.

"Throw it where?" she yelled back, her arms held over her head protectively.

"Anywhere, it doesn't matter!"

Suddenly, the gunfire stopped, and he heard the gunman frantically reloading his empty weapon. This was his chance.

"NOW!"

Akane seized the heavy lamp and blindly lobbed it over the sofa. The resulting crash distracted the gunman for one fatal second, and Ranma jumped to his feet, aimed and fired.

The assassin went down without a sound.

For a long moment, the only sounds he could hear were his and Akane's heavy breathing accompanied by a slight ringing in his ears from the noise of the guns. Feathers and cotton wool floated serenely in the air like a fresh snowfall at night.

"Is he dead?" Akane asked in shaky voice from the floor.

"Yeah…yeah, he's finished."

He would never, ever get used to how this moment felt. The moment when the noise, and adrenaline, and training reflexes, and desire to uphold the law just disappeared, and all he was left with was the sight of the living, breathing person he had just killed.

"Are there any more of them?"

"No. It was just him."

"Oh. Good." She got to her feet slowly and glanced at the dead body in her living room before quickly turning away again and picking her way around the ruined pieces of furniture.

"Nabiki," she cried out suddenly, causing Ranma to jump. "It's over, you can come out now!"

"Are you sure?" came a muffled voice from the other side of the house.

"Yes, there's a police officer here. Everything's okay." She looked over her shoulder at the body once again. "Well, not completely okay…" she went on in a quieter voice.

Ranma looked at her through the darkness. "There's someone else here, and you didn't tell me?" he demanded.

"Sorry, it kinda slipped my mind," she replied, and as far as Ranma could tell, she wasn't being sarcastic. "Nabiki's my older sister. I told her to hide in one of linen cupboards in the hall. It doesn't look big enough to fit a person, so figured no one would look for anyone in there. Ah, here it is."

Akane flipped a switch on the wall and the room was suddenly flooded with light.

"I don't know how you managed to get here in time," she began, blinking at him as her eyes adjusted to the light, "but I can't thank—"

Ranma saw recognition dawn in Akane's eyes as she got a good look at his face for the first time. Her jaw dropped and she stared at him.

"Y-you!"

He nodded and tried to look as casual as possible as he holstered his gun. "Um, yeah. Hi, Akane."

"But-but…you're not a cop!" she cried, pointing at him accusingly. "You're a gardener!"

"Actually, I'm not really either." He kept his voice even, trying to downplay the fact that had lied to her twice, once for each time he had ever spoken with her. "I'm a federal agent. I work for the PSIA."

She made a funny squeaking noise, and he took it as a bad sign.

Just then, a third, slightly disheveled-looking figure entered the room and whatever explanations he was about to give to Akane died in his throat.

The short-haired brunette caught his eye and they locked gazes. She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

It didn't matter. He didn't need to hear a word.

Ranma heard Akane give a cry of surprise when he plunged his hand into his jacket, withdrew the gun again, and aimed it straight at Nabiki's forehead.

"Don't move. Get down on your knees and put your hands behind your head. You're under arrest."

"Under arrest?" Akane echoed incredulously. She glanced back and forth between the pair, alarmed that her sister was doing what she was told. "What the hell for?"

"For involvement in organised crime."

* * *

**Author's Notes: **I'm doing that Mr. Burns evil hand-rubbing thing right now. >:D Cliffhangers are mah bitches.

So I promised it wouldn't take months and months to update. Well, I still did, but not five, so that's a definite improvement. But yeah, I really, really enjoyed writing this chapter. The last half of it just came to me in one go over the past three days. :D

Just a quick thing or two: Thames Valley Police is the police force that serves Oxfordshire, where Mr. Henderson was from. The second thing is—and this is so lame but I couldn't help myself—the TV show Nabiki was watching was indeed _24_. Hunky badass cop with the sexy voice who's good with nuclear devices? Keifer Sutherland's Jack Bauer, of course! I'd like to meet a female alive who doesn't get the shivers every time he says anything at all in that smooth bedroom voice of his. Apparently the show is quite big in Japan, too.

And besides, I thought it was kinda fitting for this story. :D

Anyway, enough fangirling about non-Ranma fandoms. I hope you liked this chapter as much as I did, and if so, let me know! ;)

* * *

**Review Responses: (the, er, condensed soup version)**

**Ayumi Omoide: **I know I've said this before, but you're such a sweetheart and I just love your reviews! They're so cheerful and enthusiastic and make me want to be your friend in real life because I'll bet you're a ton of fun to hang out with :) I write for people like you (but really, you're giving me far too much credit! There's tons of much better, more creative Ranma writers out here!) I just hope I made up for the lack of RA interaction in the last chapter here. :) **SkippyPanda: **The girl talk was definitely fun to write, because it sounded like a transcript between me and my friends during any given conversation. :P And it was pretty sneaky of Akane to do that. We'll see how that plays itself out later. :D **Angela Jewell: **Yay, fabulous reviewer alert! I'm so happy to hear that you're finding this story engaging, and thank you for your vote of confidence. One of the things I love about the Ranmaverse is that there's so many characters to play around with, and I enjoy coming up with roles for each one of them that reflects something about their canon roles. I'm so glad you noticed and appreciated the whole Shinnosuke thing. And dude, fifty point for you for guessing the P&P reference! It's a great book, isn't it? You must watch 'Bride & Prejudice', it's a really great adaptation. :D **nishikaze:** Hee, actually 'pediatrician' is the American spelling of the word. Canadians tend to use the British spelling, 'paediatrician'. Sharp eye though, way to go! **Jazz:** Hehehe, this humble Real fan bows before you. And to be perfectly honest, I haven't been keeping up with it for almost a year now, so don't hold it against me. :D And don't worry, there's lots more of the story yet to come, and I plan on chugging on till the very last sentence. :D **Jade Eye:** Don't you worry, Akane is one of my favourite characters, there's no way she's getting the brush-off in this story! **Ningen Demonai:** Hehe, I call everyone 'silly'. It's just one of my terms of endearment. :) And I'm glad to hear that you felt sympathy Mr. Henderson's character. I was kinda worried he was a bit of a sore thumb, because he's just so different from any original character I've read, but I'm so pleased with the good response he got. And yes, RIP Mr. Henderson. **Breed 107:** What are you talking about, you're English is lovely! A hell of a lot better than my French (and that's pretty shameful, considering I'm a Canadian :P), and miles beyond my Italian. And Akane is my favourite character too, so I'm glad you liked my portrayal of her. :) **Shadow Knight2: **Thank you so much for the nice words! I really enjoy your stories as well, so it means a lot to hear it from you. As for Akane's behaviour on the train, I agree that it's odd for her, but I really wanted them to meet and like each other right away, instead of starting their relationship off with conflict and nothing else. I kinda wanted to put a different spin on their story so they could interact a little differently from the usual "I thought I hated him/her, but I guess he/she isn't so bad" thing later on. I hope it's working well! **-Oleander Tea-: **First things first: why aren't you updating your story:P But thank you so much for the encouraging words, and it's great that you think Akane's profession suits her. And it is weird how our stories and our personal professions are all crossed like that! I hadn't really even thought about it that way, but good point! **ChelseaBurger22:** And you, same to you! Why are you updating either:P And please, I would absolutely love to hear any theories you've come up with! It'll be cool to see how well, or how badly off-course I'm leading readers. XD **Dandy Mandy:** Yes, I think 'collide' is the perfect word to describe how Ranma and Akane's lives are going to come together. :D Thank you so much for the nice comments! **Leina:** As you can probably tell in the last few lines, Nabiki and Ranma do know each other, and you'll find out more about it in Chapter 4. Great guesswork! And unfortunately, I won't be writing any more about Mr. Henderson after the next chapter, but you're right his final rites. **ForeverDestiny:** Hehe, that's got to be some kind of first, the author's notes compelling a reader to review, instead of the story itself! But thank you so much for the kind words. I'm especially glad that you appreciate the research part, because as fun as it is to do, most people I think tend to assume the author is just making stuff up. :P Hope you liked this latest chapter! **SweetestTaboo:** Well, as you can tell, Akane managed to save herself from the bomb, but Ranma did get to do a bit of hero-ing in this chapter! And as for Yuka and Sayuri, I'm pretty sure they're side characters right now. That may change later on, but for now they've served their planned purpose—to annoy, tease and embarrass Akane. :D And ooh, sorry about the cliffie:P **SakK:** Lol, I'm having a laugh here because I've just figured out that your name is pronounced 'sake". Very clever! Anyway, yay, I'm glad you liked my spin on the Ranma/Akane relationship. There's no way R and A can be R and A without a bit of quarreling, but it can get a bit tedious, not to mention out of character if that's ALL they do. Thanks for the review! **sodalicious:** Seriously girl, you are like my ff dot net soul mate. I went all 'squee!' when I finally got your review, and OMG, you're way, way too kind. There's so much stuff here I can reply to, and I think instead of me taking up another page and a half, you need to just give me your email address. :P But the greatest part of the review was you telling me that you felt the same emotions as the characters I'm writing do. That there is everything I've been hoping to accomplish, so thank you. (Also, I'm guessing that it's the LSATs you're taking right now until Oct. 1? Either way, good luck on whatever horrible exams your writing and I'm so looking forward to when you'll have a chance to write again!) **clavira89:** Was this update quick enough for you? ;) To tell you the truth, you're review was the first one I've had in a while for this story, so you definitely helped jump-start my motivation again!


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